


Mountains and Badgermolehills

by Glass_Onion



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Puns, Beautiful Escape Plans, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, Force Fed Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Good Intentions, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Identity, Stupid Escape Plans, The Gaang Learns How Zuko Got The Scar (Avatar), Zuko Joins The Gaang Early (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 107,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Onion/pseuds/Glass_Onion
Summary: After the Blue Spirit frees the Avatar from the Pohuai Stronghold, Admiral Zhao captures Prince Zuko under suspicion of treason. Isolated from his Uncle and his crew, Zuko has only one ally: the chatty prisoner one cell over.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (mentioned), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & the Fire Nation
Comments: 1998
Kudos: 6589
Collections: A:tla, AtLA <100k fics to read, Behold the Sacred Texts, Best of Avatar: The Last Airbender, Canon Divergent AUs, Quality Fics, Slowburn Zuko Adoption fics, The Last Rec List, The Timelesses, avatar tingz





	1. The New Neighbor

It’s been a week. Zuko is _pretty sure_ it’s been a week. It’s harder to sense the sun from the heart of a mountain, and harder to sense the passage of time when meals are delivered with the consistency of a sundial under an umbrella. He hoards the rolls and cups of water he’s given, ingesting small portions over time to ensure they last. He tries to keep up with his meditations, though hunger and exhaustion have kept him from practicing his katas. He mostly spends his time wondering how he could be _this_ level of irresponsible, _this_ degree of foolish. When even this line of thinking wanders into tedious, he wonders instead whether Uncle is looking for him. 

He pictures the Avatar leaping away from him into the treetops. 

Sometimes, he imagines chasing after him. The ending of this story always fizzles away because he is always unsure why he’s chasing. It begins with an intent to capture, certainly, the start of an idealistic daydream about going home. But then the Avatar’s words ring through his hunger-drained head, his childish offer of friendship, and rechaining those wrists feels cruel. 

He scowls, rolls onto his side, wonders why it should matter. _He’s_ the one in chains now. He’d let the opportunity go- had betrayed his nation for selfish reasons and then _failed_ \- and now has the _gall_ to wish he’d committed _further_ treason? 

If he ever has another chance- is this the third or the fourth chance his father would have to give him?- he promises himself over and over again that he’d take it. Who cares that the Avatar happens to be a twelve-year-old with pacifist Air Nomad delusions? It just makes it easier. It _would_ make it easier, anyway, if Zuko weren’t constantly messing things up.

Zhao has no proof Zuko did it, he reminds himself. 

This entire thing- his imprisonment, the lack of a trial, the lack of _contact_ \- is proof of that. Zhao is hoping that he’ll admit to something. He’s betting that Zuko is so weak that in the face of mild adversity he’ll roll over and show his belly. 

He’s destined to be disappointed. 

Zuko closes his eyes. When Father finds out- and surely Father _will_ find out- 

If Uncle figured out it was Zhao that made Zuko disappear in the port. He’d been on his own ( _foolish_ ) buying some stupid tchotchke ( _stupider)._ The clerk had seen. He would have told Uncle, wouldn’t he? Banished or not, Zuko was a _Prince._ That mattered. People would talk.

Uncle would _ask._

Zuko was sure he’d ask. 

Yes, he tells himself for perhaps the millionth time this week (had it only been a week?). Uncle would find out. Uncle would write Father. Father would-

He swallows, focuses on breathing. 

Of course Father would care. He was his only son. He had _almost_ captured the Avatar. Agni _wanted_ him to catch the Avatar- why else had the boy appeared merely _three_ _years_ after Zuko began his search, after being missing for a hundred years? Agni had blessed his quest. This was his destiny. Zuko _almost_ had his honor back. Father had to see that.

Surely he would punish the man who dared step in Agni’s way- in _his_ way. 

“In you go,” he hears.

Zuko stiffens, perks his good ear towards the noise. The soldiers don’t usually talk. They had on the first day, littering him with insults and sarcastic honorifics, but now they say nothing. They're waiting for Zuko to beg, maybe, or waiting until he's too weak to fight back. Zuko hasn’t heard a voice other than his own in days. 

What’s changing?

“Hey, careful-!” Shouts another voice, and then there’s a crash.

Someone else, Zuko thinks as a metal door slams shut. Someone else is here.

“Yeah, you better run!”

Zuko shifts towards the wall where a small metal ventilation shaft connects the cells. He calls into it, hesitantly, “Hello?” His voice cracks. He doesn’t even sound like himself. There’s no response- of course, these walls are so _thick_ \- so he raises his voice just a little more. “Hello?”

“Huh? Who said that?”

“Hi,” Zuko says awkwardly. “I’m- next door?”

“What, like, in another cell?” The voice turns suspicious. “Or are you a guard?”

“Another cell.” 

“You probably wouldn’t tell me if you were a guard,” decides the voice.

“Probably not,” Zuko allows, approaching annoyed fast. What kind of a response was that? “Why would I be a guard? That makes no sense.”

“Okay, okay,” pacifies the voice. “So who are you?” 

Zuko pauses for a very long time before he answers. “Lee.” 

“Lee,” repeats the stranger. 

“Yes,” Zuko confirms flatly. “Who are you?” 

“Sir Walrus-Hare,” says the voice. “Sir Walrus-Hare the _Third._ ” 

Zuko scowls and demands, “What kind of name is that?"

"My cool Fire Nation Prison nickname? Was that not apparent? I thought we were doing a thing."

"What are you talking about? I told you my name was _Lee._ " 

“Lee?” The voice scoffs. “Lee is the most fakey fake name I’ve ever heard. _You_ didn’t even sound like you believed it. If you can’t even convince your _self_ , why should I believe you?” 

Zuko bristles defensively. It _is_ a lie, but still. “Lots of people are named Lee.” 

“And none of them are you.”

Nobody ever calls Azula out on _her_ lies. Zuko relents, “My name might not be Lee.” 

The man snorts. “And my name might not be Sir Walrus-Hare the Third, but hey. We’re prisoners. If we can’t not trust each other, who _can_ we not trust?” 

Zuko fiddles with a loose string on his shirt, unsure how to forward the interaction. Now that he’s been caught lying, would Sir Walrus-Hare the Third (and he _knows_ that isn’t his name, but what else can he call him?) still want to talk? It isn’t as though Zuko is by nature all that social, but it’s been days since anyone has spoken to him. He has the sudden urge to share his real name, if only just to hear someone say it, to remember who he is- that he doesn’t belong in this dank prison that smells of mold and must and fear. This is no place for Ursa’s son. 

“Are you still there?”

“Where _else_ would I be?”

Their tone drifts hopeful. “The escape tunnel you’re digging?”

“It’s _stone._ There’s _metal._ How could I dig through that?”

“Patiently,” answers the voice, unperturbed. “So...what are you in for?”

Zuko frowns. Sir Walrus-Hare has been here five minutes and is already as hard up for socializing as the banished prince. He shifts before answering. “You first.” 

“I saved a town. Single-handedly, very brave.”

Probably a lie, too, Zuko thinks. “Are they throwing people in prison for that now?”

“It was an Earth Kingdom town,” the other man says. “Believe it or not, the Fire Nation is surprisingly against that sorta thing.” 

“What town?” Zuko asks, closing his eyes. He pictures his room on the ship, the small desk layered in scrolls. A map of the Earth Kingdom forms in his mind’s eye and he hopes that he can figure out where he is. There’s no way the information can help, but just knowing would settle something deep in his gut. Having _some_ minor control. 

“Douxing.” 

It’s vaguely familiar. One of the dozens of small towns scattered along the western coast of this impossibly large nation. There are a few mountain ranges nearby that could conceal their cells. “How-” Zuko hesitates, then goes for it. “How long did it take to get here?”

“I’m sorry,” Sir Walrus-Hare replies, sounding sincere. “I was unconscious. I don’t know how long we traveled.” He pauses for only a moment. “How about you?”

“We’d just sailed in off the coast of the Mo Ce Sea. It was...a while ago.” 

Impossibly, this information seems to excite Zuko’s companion. “You sail?”

“Yes,” he says hesitantly. “Sort of _._ ”

“Explain,” Sir Walrus-Hare demands. He sounds like he’s frowning. 

“I’ve sailed. For the last three years, actually. But I don’t do much of the-” He gestures for an audience that can’t see him, “ _hands-on_ stuff.” 

“Still technically sailing. I’ll award you exactly half the credit, and even offer you lessons from a bonafide survived-a-hurricane-in-a-fishing-boat warrior. I did also capsize a canoe in the middle of pack ice, but that's less important.” Sir Walrus-Hare hesitates before wondering, tone a little more serious, “Three years. You served?”

Zuko snorts. “That’s one way of saying it.” 

“What’s another way?” 

Zuko doesn’t answer. 

“Why are you in here, Lee?” 

Zuko frowns down at his hands and swallows thickly. He’s already been caught lying once. He doesn’t want to alienate the only human contact he has. “They said I committed treason.” 

“That’s a hefty charge,” Sir Walrus-Hare comments carefully. 

Zuko bobs his head in silent agreement.

Sir Walrus-Hare isn’t deterred by the lack of a response. “You’re Fire Nation, then?”

Zuko tips his head back, rests it on the stone. “Yes.”

“Colonies, or far from home?”

“Far from home.”

“Me, too,” says Sir Walrus-Hare. “It’s kinda terrible here.”

Zuko smiles at that. “It kinda is.” He thinks. _Pack ice_. “You’re Water Nation?”

“From the South,” he concurs. “Where the temperature is reasonable and everyone isn’t obsessed with mud and the color green. And the food-! _Spirits_ , do I miss the food. Have you ever had seal jerky?”

“No,” Zuko says. “But it sounds terrible.”

“You’re missing out, pal,” dismisses the voice. “But I don’t care, more for me. Crunchy on the edges, chewy in the middle, fat that melts right in your _mouth_. You can’t oversalt it- _never_ oversalt it- but if you do it just right-!” He makes a kissing noise and Zuko can’t help but smile. “What about the Fire Nation?”

“The Fire Nation?”

“I’ve never been, but I figure even the most evil nation in the world has to have _some_ decent food.” 

“The Fire Nation is _not_ evil,” Zuko retorts heatedly, scowling. “It’s the _greatest_ Nation in the world _._ They may call me a traitor, but I’m _not._ I love my Nation.” 

“Okay-”

“And if they would just _listen_ , they would know that. I would never do anything to disrespect my- my people-!” 

“Okay! Sorry! I didn’t realize you were such a patriot.” 

Zuko slumps, mellowing. It’s easier to do when he’s so hungry he can’t even stand to shout. It works better than Uncle’s calming tea, anyway. He closes his eyes. “Fire flakes.”

“I’m sorry, did you sneeze?”

“Fire flakes,” Zuko repeats. “They serve them during festivals. They’re sweet and spicy and pop like fireworks in your mouth.” His stomach rumbles at the very thought. At this point, he’d take seal jerky, but the thought of just _one_ fiery flake brings a strange combination of homesick and seasick. “I haven’t had them right in years.”

“Well,” says Sir Walrus-Hare, and he manages to stretch the one-syllable word into two. “Now that we know each other, how’s about we start planning the great escape?”

“There’s no escape from here,” Zuko mutters bitterly. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I doubt you’ve tried with an escape _mastermind_ around, no offense.”

“It’s a _mountain_ ,” Zuko stresses. “With _metal._ An _Earthbender_ couldn’t break out of here.” 

“It’s a prison,” Sir Walrus-Hare replies. “Those are _made_ to escape.”

“You don’t understand the concept of _prison_ , do you? _”_

“Look, _Lee_ , I’ve done a lot in these last few months that should have been impossible. Breaking out of a mountain is honestly child’s play by comparison. Besides, my friends are gonna break me out either way. I’d _rather_ I do it myself and ask them what took so long.” 

“They’re not going to come for you,” Zuko says, just loud enough for the other man to hear. He tries to keep his voice soft despite the frustration coiling around in his chest. “I’m sorry, but they’re not. It’s better to understand that early.” 

Sir Walrus-Hare is quiet. Then, “How long have you been in here?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko admits. “They switch up meal deliveries, and I can’t feel the sun.”

“Feel the sun-? God, Firebenders are so _creepy_ , what does that even _mean-_!”

“It’s not creepy!” Zuko shouts, and he feels a little of his inner fire flare. It’s weak, but it’s _there._ Agni hasn’t given up on him yet. “It’s in our blood! It’s Agni himself watching over us!”

“Okay,” says Walrus-Hare. “Shouting about gods and blood definitely helped you sound less creepy.” 

Zuko snarls. “This is ridiculous. I’m done.”

“Look, hey, you want to feel the sun again, right? Me, too.”

Zuko crosses his arms and fumes quietly. 

“We can do that,” Walrus-Hare insists. His tone turns an awkward sort of sympathetic. “Look, I’m sorry I called Firebending creepy.” He hesitates. “But you don’t support the Fire Nation army, right? That’s why you did...whatever you did?”

“I didn’t commit treason!” Zuko snaps, bunching up his shoulders and scowling until his last bite of bread begins to burn. He hastily blows the small embers black, annoyed with himself for the lack of control. So much for the involuntary hours of meditation helping. “I just-” He suddenly thinks: a prisoner out of nowhere. A chatty treasonous prisoner that just happens to be right next door. He stiffens in horror. “Who are you!?”

He’ll lie, he thinks, feeling stupid. Why _wouldn’t_ he lie? He’ll have a whole story planned if Zhao ordered him to talk the Prince in circles. Zuko should have just played it cool, kept tight-lipped, just like every _other_ time someone manipulated him. What was _wrong_ with him? Why didn’t he ever learn from the lessons he _kept_ learning? 

“Who am I?” The interrogator repeats quizzically. “Didn’t we just go over this? I’m Sir Walrus-Owl the fifth, distinguished planner of heists and escapes.” 

“It was Sir Walrus-Hare the third a minute ago,” Zuko comments icily.

“Okay, I’ll take either as my fun Fire Nation Prison nickname. You _are_ aware we had a whole conversation about that _not_ being my real name?” 

Zuko decides to cut to the chase. “Zhao sent you. Why?”

“ _Admiral_ Zhao? Zhao with the impressive but evil sideburns?”

“Answer me!” Zuko roars, leaping to his feet. He slams his fists against the stone. His vision swims and his knuckles sting, but it feels good to feel _anything_ other than despair and frustration. “I know he sent you! I’m not talking, I’m _innocent_ , do you hear me?!”

“Yes,” assures the liar. “Volume is not the issue here. Why would I be working for Zhao?”

“Stop lying!” Zuko shouts. “I’ve figured out the truth!”

“You’ve figured maybe the opposite of the truth out,” says the liar exasperatedly. His tone turns gratingly calm. “I promise I’m not working for Zhao. I was arrested this afternoon in Douxing after Fire Nation troops tried to detain a _toddler_ for moving some rocks. I was separated from- from my family, and I tried taking on five soldiers by myself. Am I stupid? Sure, sometimes, to great heroic effect. Am I an evil Fire Nation soldier trying to learn all of your secrets? No.” There’s a brief pause in which Zuko has no idea what to say. “Here,” continues the voice, “new rule: I don’t care about your secrets. Don’t even _try_ to tell me. I’m not interested.” 

“You’re lying,” Zuko tries again, less certain. 

“Still not lying,” says the possibly-not-an-interrogator. 

“No more questions?” He confirms just to be safe, sliding down the wall into a sprawl. His head is ringing. He probably shouldn’t have jumped up like that. 

“No more questions,” says Sir Walrus-Hare-Owl the Thirty Fifth. 

Zuko frowns down at his sore knuckles, feeling foolish. There’s still a chance the voice belongs to one of Zhao’s soldiers, in it for the long haul, but it’s unlikely. Zhao has never been much for subtlety. “Fine.”

“Alright then. Good.” The voice does sound relieved. “Look, my friends-” 

“-are still not going to come for you,” Zuko interrupts. “My- my people, I know they would have come for me, if they could. This place is a fortress. No one could get in here.” Perhaps the Blue Spirit, he thinks with wry bitterness, but he’s a little indisposed.

“All the more reason we start planning ourselves,” says the voice firmly. “Hope for the best, plan for the absolute worst. I mostly focus on the second part. Tell me what you know.” 

Zuko thinks. What could possibly be useful to know? “They bring food once every two days or so. Just enough to keep you alive.”

“Not ideal,” says the voice. “I’m a fan of eating daily. Any routine to it?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko admits. “I can’t tell the time of day.”

Sir Walrus thinks. “I was arrested during the afternoon. If we assume today, it’s probably around midnight. Do you…” He hesitates. “Feel anything about that? If you feel the sun, can you feel its absence?”

“I do feel a little weaker than normal,” he offers hesitantly. “But that might just be the-”

“Starvation, sure,” says the voice genially when he falters. “That adds up.”

“There are noises when I sleep,” Zuko adds as fair warning. “I don’t know if it’s the mountain or the soldiers, but you won’t get enough sleep to use as a metric.”

“We’ll see about that,” replies Sir Walrus gamely. “I once slept through an avalanche.”

Zuko furrows his brows. “What.”

“I woke up covered in snow,” he continues, and he sounds _proud_ about it. “I was sick for a solid week.”

“...and you’re the mastermind?”

“Just think what that says about _you._ ”

Zuko would normally bristle at such a comment, but he finds himself more amused than offended. "I'm not sure either of us are qualified, then."

“Look, I'm what you've got. You don't like my secret escape plan, make your _own_ secret escape plan. We can try both. But _my_ secret escape plan already has a plan for timing figured out, so we're doing mine first. It'll definitely work. Probably." He pauses. "Tell me about the guards.”

“They rotate. And they keep their helmets on. And,” he adds, “they don’t talk.”

“Oh, _that’s_ why you’re acting like this.”

This time, Zuko _does_ bristle. “Acting like what.”

“Like you’ve never spoken to a human before. I thought you were just, y’know, _awkward_.” Zuko doesn’t reply, simultaneously offended and embarrassed. “Wait,” says the voice. “Are you just like this all the time?”

“No!” Zuko snaps seconds before he realizes this answer suggests there’s something _wrong_ with the way he’s behaving. “Just go on with the plan,” he grumbles.

“Okay, okay, _sorry_. I need a day or two to get the lay of the land and figure something out. We have to act fast. Whatever we decide, it’s probably going to involve tackling an armored soldier, and I’d rather do that _before_ I’m starving.” 

“That isn’t going to work,” Zuko retorts, and it’s more practicality than bruised pride. “I tried that.” He considers. “Are you a bender?” Not that they have much water to work with, but at least it’d be _something_ in their favor.

“No,” answers the man, of course. “That would have helped, though. Are you?”

Zuko closes his eyes and considers the glowing ember in his chest. “Yes,” he says, because there is only so much Zhao can take away. “I am.” 

"Well," says sir Walrus. He sounds more hopeful than uneasy, but it's a precarious balance. "That's something."

\----

There were a few times during their conversation that Zuko was ready to stop talking. Now that silence has settled, however, he feels desperate for the voice to return. The dull light-headed pain in his temples intensifies in the silence. The bread is tempting, but he wants to save it for when he _really_ needs it. What he needs _now_ is a reminder that he’s not alone.

Thankfully, before he can scrounge together enough words for a sentence, he hears, “You still awake?”

“Yes.” 

“I was wondering: how’d they catch you, anyway?”

Zuko flushes, embarrassed.

“...Lee?”

“I’m here.” He shifts. “We’d stopped at a small port. I wanted to get my uncle a present.” 

“That’s nice,” says the voice encouragingly. “Was it his birthday?”

“No, I just- I can be _difficult_ , and I wanted to show that-” He leans forward and wraps his arms around his knees. A familiar guilt winds its way through his empty stomach. This is a topic to which he’s given a lot of thought these past few however-many-days. “He’s given up a lot for me. Too much. I don’t always show my appreciation well. I...get impatient. I know this isn’t easy for him. I’m keeping him from his _life_ and his _home,_ and it’s different for him. He could go _back_ , if he wanted to. He likes stupid trinkets so I decided to get him one. I didn’t tell him where I was going, and Zhao’s men followed me inside the shop. I took down six of them-”

“ _Six-!”_

“But they just kept coming, and I was already hurt from-” _Committing treason._ “-a previous mission. It was hardly even a _fight._ ”

“ _...six!_ ” 

“I woke up here,” he finishes, frowning down. “Uncle might think I snuck away, _ran_ away, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t give up, and I wouldn’t _leave_ him like that. Or he thinks…” His headache intensifies. “...thinks that I’m dead. And he’s already gone home.” He isn’t sure what he’d rather: Uncle searching the Earth Kingdom for his wayward nephew, wasting more time on a lost cause, or accepting his death and going home. The options hurt in different ways. 

Uncle would search for him. He’d stayed with him three years. He had to be looking. 

“I forgot to mention,” says Sir Walrus. “When I was saving that little girl, I actually beat up _seven_ guys.”

For the first time in a week- no, more than that, _months_ maybe, Zuko laughs.


	2. The New-ish Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a time when there are things in this story other than gratuitous talking. This is not that time.

Zuko has been on the verge of sleep for maybe an hour when he hears,

“Hey, Lee? You awake?”

He rolls onto his side and stares at the metal vent. “What?”

“Is it always this cold in here?”

Zuko frowns. “Aren’t you from a Southern Water Tribe?” 

“...yes?”

“It’s freezing there,” Zuko points out. “Nothing but snow and ice.”

“And also blankets and coats and fire,” Walrus counters. “Here I have…” 

Zuko waits patiently as the other man catalogs his belongings.

“A rock.”

Zuko shifts. “I don’t have a rock.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to brag.”

“It’s always this cold,” Zuko answers finally. 

“How do you _sleep?_ "

Zuko shrugs. “I’m a Firebender. I run hot.”

“Hm. That doesn’t help me.” Walrus thinks. “You don’t suppose they’ll drop off blankets soon, do you?”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” Walrus groans and mutters something in reply, but Zuko is too busy thinking to bother listening. _Breath._ “We could try something,” he says slowly. “-if you’re really that cold.” 

“Try what?” 

“The vent,” Zuko says awkwardly, rapping against the side of the metal. “My Uncle taught me a way to, uh- to _breathe_ heat.” 

Walrus is quiet.

Zuko glares. “What!?”

“I didn’t say anything. I _carefully_ didn’t say anything.”

“Whatever, it was just a stupid idea. Suit yourself.” Zuko wraps his arms around himself, settling in his own heat. What does he care if some Water Tribe peasant shivers? 

“It’s not a stupid idea,” Walrus hurries to say. “Just one I never would have thought of, which is saying something. Go on. What do you mean breathe heat? I don’t want to be set on fire.”

“It’s not like that,” Zuko tries to explain. “It’s something my Uncle taught me. A way to survive in _actually_ cold places, like your glaciers. It’s just warm air.” 

“That you _breathe._ Like a _dragon._ ”

“Like a _firebender._ It’s not even real firebending, it’s just a trick.”

“That actually makes it sound more appealing,” Walrus admits. He hesitates. “And it won’t, like...tire you out, will it? My sister is a bender- I know it takes effort.” 

“I’m _fine_!” Zuko snaps immediately, bristling, even though Walrus knows just how _not_ fine he is. The idea of admitting breathing warm air might actually exhaust him is- it’s not something he wants to do. “You won’t be able to sleep if you’re freezing and if you can’t sleep, you can’t plan the escape. I can do this.”

“...so you believe in the escape now, huh?”

“I believe in letting you try so you’ll shut up about it.”

Walrus hums thoughtfully then says, “Okay, let’s try it. What do I do?”

Zuko thinks. “Sit near the vent.”

“Uh, doing that already.” 

“Well then, just- I don’t know, wait for it.” He leans down beside the small metal inlet, thankful for the complete blackness and thick walls; no one can see how ridiculous he’s being for the sake of one cold moron. He holds onto this frustration and shame, the boiling rage at being caged like an animal, and lets the air simmer in his lungs. His breaths slow. His fingers begin to shake. He inhales deep, then lightly exhales steam from his nostrils. When he feels ready, he breathes into the vent. He quickly shifts against the hole to try and trap the heat.

“Ohmy _god._ ”

Zuko jerks back, horrified. “Did I burn you?! What ha-?!”

“Lee, this feels _amazing._ ”

Zuko sags, exhausted. The peasant is fine. “Okay.”

“I mean it. This is- this is firebending?”

“Not really.”

“This is what they should teach your _soldiers._ If Zuko had shown up at my village with a built-in sauna, maybe we would have surrendered immediately.”

Zuko stiffens. “Prince Zuko? He- he went to your village?”

“Yep. Threatened everyone and shouted a lot. Charming guy.”

Zuko’s cheeks flush and the minor pride at having helped Walrus dissolves into a more familiar shame. _Of course_ he’d threatened Walrus’ home. Why not? He’d been to dozens of frozen little villages, had screamed in hundreds of snow-numbed faces, had crashed into walls and buildings and sacred fishing pools. 

“Lee? You okay?”

Zuko closes his eyes and glares at the lids. Stupid. So _stupid._

“Lee?” The tone turns urgent. “Talk to me, buddy. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts. 

“It wasn’t too much, was it?”

“I said I could do it!” Zuko snaps. “I’m not weak! I can handle a parlor trick!” 

“...okay. Just making sure. Don’t wanna lose my escape partner, y’know?” 

Zuko crosses his arms and leans back against the stone. It presses jagged into the small of his back, and he feels like shouting. Not _words_ , exactly, just _shouts._

“And for what it’s worth," Walrus continues tentatively. "I thought it was pretty impressive. Obviously.”

“You’re not a bender,” Zuko scoffs. “Just some traitor from the South. Do you think I _care_ what you think?” 

Walrus is stunned into silence, but it doesn’t last long. “Okay, cranky, does firebending just up your anger levels? Because that would explain a _lot._ ”

“Stop _saying_ stuff like that!” Zuko snarls. “Like your people are so perfect? I’ve _seen_ what your crews do to our soldiers, what they do to the colonies!”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean!?”

“The _noble_ watertribe savages that attack in the night and leave empty ships behind, without a single flame to shepherd the spirits home!”

“That’s _war_ ,” Walrus counters, unimpressed. “Your _Prince_ gets off on threatening old women and children.”

“He didn’t care about _them_ , he was looking for the _Avatar._ ”

“Oh, _right,_ he was just trying to crush the world’s last hope, _a twelve-year old who floats._ Real noble.”

_Do you think we could have been friends?_

“It isn’t like that,” Zuko tries again, beginning to tremble. He can’t tell whether it’s the exertion of mild firebending, or the exertion of yelling, or maybe just the fear that Walrus will suddenly recognize who he is and just- just stop _talking_ to him. Escape, somehow, and leave him behind. “I’m not _evil._ ”

Walrus is quiet. “Thank you, Lee,” he says finally, firmly. “For the firebending.”

Zuko shifts. “I told you, it’s not-”

“It’s the best firebending I’ve ever seen,” Walrus interrupts testily. “And if you don’t care what _I_ think, then I don’t care what _you_ think.”

“I’m-” _sorry._ Zuko bites the word down, because he _isn’t._ He doesn’t care what Walrus thinks, except he does a little, because Walrus is the only ally he has. An ally that would cast him aside if he knew who Zuko really was. “Let me know if you need more,” he offers lamely.

“I’m good,” Walrus says, but Zuko can hear the lie. He just doesn’t think Zuko can do it _._ He isn’t wrong, and the thought galls. “Get some sleep, Lee. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Good night,” Zuko mutters awkwardly. He lays back down on the ground, pillowing his arms beneath his head. As long as Walrus doesn’t know who he is, as long as ‘Lee’ can just not _ruin_ it, Zuko can have an ally. An enemy given time, but that’s nothing new. Zuko will take it.

\--

“Are you kidding me?!”

Zuko’s eyes flutter open.

“This wouldn’t feed a _plankton-shrimp._ Hey-! Hey, come back here! _Where’s the meat?!”_

Zuko sits forward, light-headed from the motion. The familiar blackness of his cell welcomes him and his stomach rumbles. He tilts his head to the side, waiting for the door to open. If they’re feeding Walrus, surely…

The steps fall away as Walrus continues shouting.

They’re not going to feed him today.

He lets out a shaky breath. That’s okay. He still has a bite of bread. He doesn’t need it badly enough to eat it right now, so he’s okay. As long as he has that, he’s okay.

"Lee, you up?"  
  
"How could I be asleep with you _shouting_ like that?"

“Is this seriously all you’ve been eating?" Walrus wonders, ignoring the question. "This soup tastes like _nothing._ ”

Zuko frowns. “You got soup?”

“That and a roll smaller than the size of my _fist-_ ” Walrus cuts himself off. “Wait. What’d they give you?”

Zuko shifts. “They’re not going to feed me today.”

“What? Why would they do that? Don’t they need you alive for a confession or information or whatever?”

“Barely,” Zuko answers, echoing what Zhao had told him the moment he’d first arrived. “They want me docile, unable to fight. They haven’t even _tried_ questioning me since that first day. I took down three of them before they even got me out of the cell...”

Walrus whistles appreciatively.

“They’ll try again once I’m not able to fight back,” Zuko continues, then corrects, “When they _think_ I’m not able to fight back.” 

"So, what, they don't think I'm worth starving?"

"I'm not even sure why you're here," Zuko admits. "This is a stronghold for off-the-books traitors. _Alleged_ traitors. All you did was start a brawl. You're not even a _bender._ "

“Man, if I _were_ a bender," says Walrus, showcasing an impressively short attention span. "-I could send this soup right through the vent.”

“You need it more than I do,” Zuko responds. “You’re our first line of offense, remember?”

“Right,” Walrus agrees. He doesn’t sound as sure as he should. “Hey. You said you took down three soldiers before...how many deliver your food?”

Zuko thinks. “Five?”

“They only sent two for me,” says Walrus thoughtfully. “They don’t think I’m much of a risk.” 

Zuko smiles a little. “Is that a mistake?”

“A big one,” Walrus concurs, and he sounds like he’s smiling, too. 

\--

“Okay, here’s one. What do you call a corrupt Earthbending sheriff?”

Zuko thinks maybe he should reveal his identity. Cold silence might be better than this.

“Lee. Lee, are you thinking?”

“ _No._ ”

“You should think. It’s a thinker.”

“None of these are thinkers. They’re stupid. _You’re_ stupid. All of this is stupid.”

“Ah, I understand your frustration. It’s a challenging joke.” Walrus pauses for a beat. “A dirty cop, Lee. _A dirty cop._ ”

Zuko groans and covers his face.

“Your turn, Lee.”

“How is this _helping_ ? Aren’t you supposed to be working on some genius escape plan?”

“I’m improving morale,” Walrus replies indignantly. “Humor is the best medicine, other than medicine. It’s your turn.” 

“I’m not making up jokes. That’s stupid.”

“Fine, but I’ve done Air, Water, and Earth. There’s only one option left. Do you _want_ me to make jokes about the Fire Nation?”

Zuko scowls. 

“ _Lee?_ ”

“Just do another one about the Water Tribes.”

“It doesn’t work that way, buddy.”

“It doesn’t work like _anything._ This isn’t a thing.”

“Okay, what does the Fire Lord say when-”

“Fine. Fine!” Zuko crosses his arms and scowls. Thinks. “What does…” He hesitates. “What did one flame say to the other...flame?”

“What _did_ one flame say to the other flame?”

Zuko frowns. 

“Uh, Lee? What _did_ one flame say to the other flame?”

“I’m thinking!”

“You didn’t have an answer?”

“I’m _thinking!_ ” He scowls around the dark cell looking for inspiration. It’s unhelpful. Finally he snaps, “Why so blue!”

“...why so blue?”

“Like- like blue fire! And- sadness?”

“There’s blue fire?”

“The hottest fire is blue,” Zuko tries to explain, glaring and blushing. His entire face must be red. “I don’t know, you didn’t give me any time. I didn’t even _want_ to do this. This is _stupid._ I’m not _funny._ ”

“Lee..." Walrus bursts into laughter. “That is _definitely_ not true.”

Even though Zuko knows he’s being teased, he can’t help the slightest smile. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, grudgingly playing into the role. “ _You_ do better.”

“That’s _official_ permission to mock your cultural heritage?”

“See how long it lasts,” Zuko challenges, crossing his arms. 

\--

“I’m here to _tinder_ my resignation-!”

\--

  
  


“-more like Soz- _out!_ ”

\--

“Buddy, you’re _fired-!_ ”

“Okay,” says Zuko. “That’s enough.”

“But I’m just getting warmed up!” 

Zuko reconsiders the possibility that Walrus is one of Zhao’s agents.

\--

“Are you almost done?”

“Almost,” Zuko replies, not bothering to open his eyes. “You could meditate, too. It helps.”

“I’m good,” Walrus dismisses. “I’d rather spend my time thinking about escaping instead of counting breaths.”

Zuko peeks one eye open. “Have you got any ideas?”

“One or two,” Walrus says vaguely. “You meditate a _lot._ ”

“When no one else was around, there wasn’t much else to do.”

“Have you found enlightenment yet?”

“I’d settle for a torch,” Zuko mutters.

Walrus snorts. “Yeah, I hear you. That and a _mirror._ I’m starting to forget what I look like. I know the basics: handsome, strong jaw, thoughtful brow. But my mustache is going to grow way out if I don’t get a razor soon.”

“You have a mustache?” Zuko wonders, adjusting his mental picture. It’s now a walrus-hare with an extremely bushy mustache. He isn’t very creative. 

“I- yes,” says Walrus, but he has that high-pitched tone that suggests deceit. “The _start_ of one. It’s growing. But if we’re in here much longer, it’ll be way too much. You want the girl to be able to find your lips, y’know?” 

“Sure,” agrees Zuko blandly.

“Do you have a mustache?”

“No.”

“Not even a little one?”

“No.”

“Huh. Does your dad?”

Zuko jolts, surprised. “Uh, no. Goatee. Does...yours?”

“No,” Walrus says. “Just a beard.”

“...okay.” 

“I’d look good in a mustache, I think.”

“I thought you had a mustache?”

“The _start_ of one,” Walrus corrects. He pauses for a moment. “When you said that thing- about the Water Tribe warriors…”

Zuko frowns. “What about it?”

“...never mind.” 

He doesn’t push the point. Walrus had sounded perturbed and oddly serious, and _that_ implies a conversation Zuko has no interest in pursuing. The more their conversation revolves around the war, the more likely it is that his identity will be discovered and this precarious peace will vanish. It will end eventually, of course; Zuko is loyal to the Fire Nation and Walrus is unashamedly _anti_ -Fire Nation. Theirs is a partnership of opportunity based on the slim chance of escape.

Still. Zuko doesn't want to invite its end any sooner than need be, even if his ally happens to be the most annoying Water Tribe peasant in the world. 

Except maybe the Avatar’s lackey that had hit him in the head with a boomerang. _Multiple times._

Somewhere behind the wall, Walrus begins thinking up new puns.

Okay, Zuko admits. It’s a close call.

\-----

“Hey!”

Zuko gasps forward, sucking in thin breaths. There’s no fire. The air smells old and wet and earthy, like the caves he’d searched years ago, full of murals and skeletons and burnt stone. His father isn’t here. Father isn’t _coming_. Father isn’t coming and he’s going to spend the rest of his life in cold blackness until even his inner fire has grown cold- 

“Lee? Lee, are you okay?”

He swallows shakily. There’s a lump in his throat that won’t go away and his heart is beating like a zebra-goat’s hooves and the darkness seems to permeate every _inch_ of air. He closes his eyes to a calmer, more familiar black. He tries to focus his breathing. He tries to relax his muscles. He tries to imagine he’s holding a freshly brewed cup of jasmine tea, something he’ll never admit to liking and something he can’t imagine missing more. His cheeks are wet and he can’t tell whether he’s crying or sweating, but either way he feels ashamed and hollow.

“Lee?” Repeats the voice with greater urgency, and this time he really hears it. 

“I’m okay,” he assures raspily, swallowing back the taste of bile. “I’m fine.” He shifts forward. His head is ringing. He’s so _hungry_ and phantom terror is still chasing along his nerves, urging him to run as if he isn’t locked in a small box miles and miles from home. “Sorry,” he grunts when he can almost control his voice. 

“Uh, why are you apologizing?”

Zuko shifts. “I woke you.”

“Please,” says the voice, shaky in its bravado. “I slept through an avalanche, remember? A little screaming can’t beat that.”

“...I was screaming?” That explains why his throat feels as if it were ripped to shreds. He wishes he had water. He thinks of Uncle’s tea again and squeezes his eyes shut. So stupid. He’s so stupid. Not even just getting arrested or committing treason, but _all_ of this. Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut during that war meeting? What was _wrong_ with him? 

“...Lee? You still with me?”

Zuko tries to focus. “What did you say?”

“I asked whether you were okay.” He pauses. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Zuko mutters, pulling his knees to his chest.

“...do you wanna hear about _my_ dream?”

He rests his forehead on cool skin. “Okay.” 

“ _I_ dreamt,” says Sir Walrus-Hare the Third. “-that I was sledding down a mountain of seal jerky. It _sounds_ great, but who actually wants to eat seal jerky other people have been sledding all over? I spent the whole dream wandering around looking for _one_ piece I could actually eat.”

Zuko’s breathing begins to smooth. “Did you find it?”

“I did,” comes the answer. “A flying lemur ate it.” 

“Aren’t those herbivores?”

“Not dream ones, apparently.” 

There’s a long silence. It settles like a warm blanket and if Zuko wasn’t so buzzed, he might even be able to sleep. It must be an hour before he murmurs, “I dreamt I was at home.” 

He doesn’t expect an answer- surely Walrus has fallen asleep- but the reply comes immediately. “Where is home for you?” 

It’s a soft question and Zuko is thankful. He wants to talk but he doesn’t _really_ , and this seems like neutral territory to conquer. “Caldera.” 

“Caldera,” repeats the voice. “That sounds familiar.” 

“It’s the capital of the Fire Nation,” Zuko explains. “It’s beautiful. It was built in the crater of a volcano that erupted generations ago. It has the softest beaches in the world.” He considers, gaze distant. “Except Ember Island, maybe.” He closes his eyes and lets himself picture home. It’s a luxury he hasn’t afforded himself much in this prison, a dream he let wither for a much simpler one: freedom. “It’s unlike any place in the world. And it’s always hot, even in the middle of winter.” 

“That sounds _terrible_ ,” says Walrus without any real heat. “Does it ever snow?”

“No,” says Zuko, smiling. “It hardly even rains. It’s paradise.”

“Can I ask the obvious question then?”

Zuko’s smile slips. His breathing remains steady, but his hands tremble.

“Why does dreaming of paradise give you nightmares?” 

“I had to leave.” 

The voice hesitates before wondering, “Why don’t you go back?”

Zuko scowls. “I’m in _prison_.”

“ _Before_ that, _Lee._ You said you were sailing for three years. Don’t you have _breaks_? How long does Fire Nation conscription last anyway?” 

Zuko chuckles darkly. “In my case? Longer than three years.” He picks up the empty ceramic cup and taps at its rim absentmindedly. His fingers appreciate the distraction. “I did something wrong. Treasonous. I’m not allowed to go home until I’ve set things right.”

“That ‘treason’- that’s why you’re here?”

“No,” Zuko admits. “That was a different treason.”

“Out of curiosity- and honestly, no shame- but exactly how much treason have you committed?”

Zuko thinks. Technically he’s snuck onto Fire Nation soil a _lot._ He’s lied to Zhao about the Avatar’s whereabouts. And his thoughts- especially of late- have been anything but loyal. 

“That shouldn’t be a hard question.” 

“I’m loyal to the Fire Nation,” he says instead of giving a number. Maybe it’s the hunger, maybe it’s the bone-deep weariness that seems to go beyond nightmare filled nights, maybe it’s just that someone is finally _listening,_ but Zuko’s next words are honest. “I may have done questionable things, but my loyalty has always been with my nation. All I want is to go home, but I have to _prove_ to the Fire Lord that I’m loyal, that I’m worth the trouble, that I can regain my honor. I know it’s my destiny, but it’s getting to the point where- I don’t know _how._ ” 

“The Fire Lord, huh?” The voice is a little strained. “Have you met him?”

“Of course,” Zuko dismisses before realizing it’s a fair question.

“Huh. What’s he like?”

Zuko considers. “Strong. Powerful. Loyal to Agni’s will no matter how it might affect him personally. He does what’s best for his nation.” His fingers brush the scar. “Always.” 

“So you’re all about that destiny stuff, are you?” 

Zuko squints. “You aren’t?”

He scoffs. “No offense, but if I had a destiny, it wouldn’t be sitting here with you in a grimy prison cell. It’d be sitting on Kyoshi Island sharing a plate of meat with a beautiful warrior.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Zuko counters. “You don’t get to pick and choose randomly. There are paths set out for you, and you decide which route you take. There are- there _has_ to be a plan.” He pauses, thinks this over, then adds, “Finding your destiny isn’t easy, and those who affect the world most are bound to be affected back.” His face warms self-consciously. “That’s what Uncle says, anyway.” 

“So you’re saying my destiny _is_ sitting here talking to you?”

Zuko shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying,” he replies, giving up. “Relying on a king that says he can talk to god is like relying on a fortune teller who says the clouds decide whether volcanoes erupt. Not wise, Lee.”

“That’s a specific comparison,” Zuko notes lightly, trying to steer the conversation away from his father. The nightmare still lingers in his periphery, and he doesn’t feel like screaming in front of Walrus _again._

“You’re not wrong,” Walrus confirms, eagerly taking the bait. “Mount Makapu blew a couple days ago and if I hadn’t been there, everyone would have been burnt to a _crisp._ Ask Aunt Wu, though, and she was never wrong, because I was _always_ going to save everyone.” 

“A couple days ago?” Zuko repeats, frowning. “Mount Makapu is miles from Duoxing.” 

“I’m a sailor,” Sir Walrus reminds him. “-and I have a very unique ship.” 

"You get into a lot of heroics." 

"Believe me, it's all very much against my will. It just _happens._ " 

Zuko shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand a lot of the spirits stuff-”

“Hear hear,” cheers Sir Walrus supportively. 

“But I know the universe has plans for me. Everything I’ve been through, it _has_ to. It just doesn’t know which it’s going to follow. Maybe I just haven’t proven myself yet. Maybe it’s indecisive?” _Maybe it’s as confused as I am._ He frowns at the cup in his hands, thumb brushing the crack steadily working its way up the fragile ceramic. “I’m worried I’ve wasted the last second chance it can offer.”

“I wish I hadn’t said I didn’t care about your secrets,” Walrus bemoans. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I keep getting more curious.” 

“I can tell you what I’m accused of,” Zuko offers after a moment. “It’s not true, so telling you doesn’t really matter, I guess.” 

“Makes sense to me,” comes the ready reply. 

“According to Admiral Zhao,” Zuko begins, taking a slow breath. “I disguised myself as a Spirit and rescued the Avatar from the Pohuai Stronghold.” 

Walrus chokes. “What?”

“It’s a lie,” Zuko reminds him. “Why would I do that?”

“Why _would_ you do that?” 

“I _didn’t_ ,” Zuko insists. “I was on my ship. We just happened to be stationed nearby.” 

“Why does he think you did?”

“Because he hates me,” Zuko answers sourly, crossing his arms. “He’s lying to the Fire Lord. He wants me to be condemned as a traitor- a _complete_ traitor, not just a banished one.” 

“Well, if the Fire Lord talks to Agni, he’ll let him know you’re innocent, right?” 

It’s probably a joke, but Zuko shakes his head anyway. “Zhao won’t tell the Fire Lord I’m here until he’s forced a confession out of me. Which he _won’t_ be able to do.”

“What about your crew?” Walrus asks, and Zuko can hear the frown in his voice. “Wouldn’t they report your capture to- I don’t know, some other admiral or Prince Zuko or something?” 

“They don’t know what happened,” Zuko reminds him, biting down a breathy laugh. The idea that _Prince Zuko_ could influence the Fire Lord. “They don’t even know I’m alive.” 

Walrus is quiet for a very long time. Finally, he offers, “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Thanks.” 

“Well, after we escape, you can get back to your crew and send word to the Fire Lord that his Admirals are running around imprisoning people without his say so. Hey, maybe he doesn’t even _know_ there’s a war- it’s just a bunch of wayward war-mongers with crazy hair. We let him know, it’s all over by lunch.”

“Sure,” Zuko agrees, snorting. “As soon as we escape.”

“We’re going to escape,” Walrus says firmly. “Rest your treasonous little brain. I’ll cook up some plans.” He hesitates. “And if you need anything, Lee, I’m right behind this really thick stone wall.” He bangs on the metal grate for emphasis and Zuko laughs. 

Too exhausted to put up any sort of token argument, the prince settles back down and closes his eyes. 

\--

“Hey.”

Zuko gives up on meditating. It was going nowhere, anyway. He keeps thinking about escape as if it’s a viable option, as if it could really _happen._ It’s a strange hope to have; he _knows_ how futile the idea of escape is. He blames the hunger. “What?” 

“You said you were banished before,” Walrus begins. 

Zuko frowns. “Yeah?”

“I thought you were part of their army. How does that work if you’re banished?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, in the Water Tribe, if you’re banished, it means-” Walrus hesitates again, obviously trying to choose words that won’t offend his target audience. It’s the same sort of pause Uncle often employs. 

Zuko scowls. “ _What._ ”

“-that they’re not a part of the tribe anymore,” Walrus finishes, sounding uncomfortable. “It’s different, I guess, it only happens for really _heinous_ crimes, but if someone’s banished, why would they fight with our warriors? They’re not a part of the tribe anymore.”

Zuko feels cold. “It isn’t like that,” he says, voice stilted. “I was given a chance. If I serve my nation admirably, I can regain my honor.”

“Honor is big for you guys, huh,” Walrus mutters wryly, more a sentence than a question.

“Does honor _not_ matter in the Water Tribes?” Zuko counters, scowling.

Walrus doesn’t respond to the snipe. “So if you serve enough years, you’re unbanished?”

“If I complete my mission,” Zuko corrects vaguely. _Everyone_ knows the story of Prince Zuko’s banishment. He isn’t interested in throwing down too many bread crumbs and losing an ally. “Yes. Then I can go home again.”

“That’s why you’ve been gone for so long,” Walrus realizes.

Zuko nods, not bothering to reply. 

“What- can I _ask_ what happened?” 

Zuko shivers and sinks into his knees. They’re so sharp and knobby. He wonders at the pathetic picture he must make. If Father _did_ know he was here, why would he even bother freeing him? This was just one more failed opportunity to prove himself. Azula would have escaped; Azula wouldn’t have been _caught._ “I offended the Fire Lord. I _insulted_ him.” 

Walrus chokes. “ _Personally_?”

“I didn’t intend to."

“So treason is just a thing that _happens_ to you.”

Zuko scowls. “It’s not _funny_.” 

“Right,” says Walrus. “Sorry. Just- that’s a little unusual.” He coughs. “So you were banished by him _personally._ Okay. But he didn’t kill you.” He hums thoughtfully. “That’s actually way more reasonable than I expected.”

“He was merciful,” Zuko agrees. 

“And he sent you out with a mission to complete, and if you complete it, _bam!_ , back to paradise?”

“That’s right,” says Zuko.

“Huh,” Walrus says again. “Weird.” 

“It’s not weird,” Zuko retorts, bunching up his shoulders defensively. 

“Okay, fine. It’s just our banishment is a lot more permanent. Like, 'hop on a cracked glacier and float away' style. I’ve never really heard of a banishment where you’re expected to come _back_ eventually.”

“He wants me back!” Zuko snaps. 

“...uh. Right. Okay.” 

“I’m loyal to the Fire Nation,” Zuko says for perhaps the hundredth time this week, easing back into his meditative pose. “And I’m going to prove it. The second we escape, I’m going to succeed. I’m going to make my people _proud._ I’m going to make _him_ proud.”

“Cool,” says Walrus, tone strained. “Let’s focus on escaping first, and decide about making Fire Lords proud second.”

\----

“Morning, traitor.”

Zuko gasps as cold water rushes over his head.

“Time to go,” he’s told as too-tight shackles bind his wrists. He’s jerked to his feet; when he nearly falls, the soldier holds him in a half-slump. 

“Go?” He repeats, forcing his bleary eyes to focus. The door to his cell is open. There are only five guards. He should be fighting, but he can hardly even _stand._ The soldier supporting him cocks their head, regarding him past the impersonal gray and red faceplate. Zuko can almost imagine it’s _his_ soldiers, _his_ people, coming to save him. But he’s not that far gone. “I order you to tell me where we’re going!” 

They don’t. They just hoist him out into the tunnel, where there’s hardly any light but it’s still brighter than anything he’s seen in days, and drag him forward. 

“Lee!” Shouts the voice from the cell they’re passing. 

Zuko wants to apologize- he should have been ready. He’d _known_ they would come for him eventually. But even when he was at his best, barely bruised and wide awake, when he could bend and slash and properly _hit_ , he couldn’t take them. What hope does he have now?

At least he can do this, he thinks, as he memorizes the route to the interrogator’s office.

When they finally arrive, Zuko's eyes sweep over the interrogator, ruddy-faced and plump, over the table and the tools and the shelves- to the window. 

There’s a _window_ , the first patch of sky he’s seen in lifetimes, and it’s blue. It’s daylight, he realizes, bewildered. It’s daylight and he’d been fast asleep. This close, he can _feel_ the sun. 

He doesn’t say a word.

\--

  
  


“What did they want?”

“To talk,” Zuko says, brushing a bit of crusted blood from his lower lip. 

“ _Did_ you?”

“No.” 

There’s a small pause. Then, “Good man.”

The praise shouldn’t warm Zuko up like a glowing hearth, but it does. “Now that I’m not able to fight,” he says, hating the words as they come but needing to get the point across. “-they’ll probably interrogate me more often. They think I’m going to break.”

“What do you have in there?”

“A tea cup,” Zuko replies, holding it carefully. Its spider-web fracture grows every day beneath his fingers, nearly reaching the lip, but it hasn’t shattered yet. “But they’re in full armor and I can’t even stand. I don’t think it’d be much of a fight.” 

“Did they blindfold you?”

“No. I know the way.” He swallows. “There’s a window.”

Walrus thinks. “Can you firebend?”

Zuko closes his eyes. “I- no. Not really. A little. Not enough to fight.” 

“Lee,” says Walrus, and Zuko can hear the grin. “I only need a spark.”


	3. The Plan

Waiting to be tortured is... bizarre. Having a plan in place, no matter how shaky or mediocre it is, means that Zuko is almost _eager_ for the guards to show. He spends most of his time staring at the patch of blackness hiding the cell door, certain that it will be thrown open any moment. 

Many years ago, when Uncle was still the Dragon of the West and the Siege of Ba Sing Se seemed eminently winnable, he’d often write home. He’d send gifts from the territories he’d conquered, foods and dolls and knives. He’d included, once, a proverbial expression popular in the Earth Kingdom: a watched pot never boils. 

_I am beginning to think they do not know what fire benders do_ , Uncle had written, amused, and then he’d been stalled at Ba Sing Se for six hundred days.

Zuko thinks of this phrase now and wonders whether the door might open faster if he just stopped thinking about it.

Probably not. 

It’s getting colder in here. His hands are shaking. 

“Do you want to go over it again?”

“No,” he dismisses, frustrated. “We’ve gone over it a hundred times. If there are guards in the hall, _they’ve_ got it memorized.” It’s mostly a joke- the metal boots are loud enough to hear a mile away- but it’s also something Zuko can’t stop worrying about. What if they know everything? What if this stupid escape attempt is doomed from the start? He shifts anxiously. “You remember the way? Just in case?”

“Two left turns, one right,” Walrus recites. 

“I didn’t see anyone else in the hall before,” Zuko says. It’s not new information, but he finds himself rambling. He’s _never_ been a rambler. “You shouldn’t run into any trouble-”

“Lee, I’ll be fine. And I'm not leaving without you, okay? We’re getting out together.”

And if this fails, Zuko thinks, they’re going to be locked in cells far away from each other, and it will be back to silence and darkness. His only breaks will be torture and if he slips- if he slips for a _second-_ he could admit to everything.

He’d never even know what happened to Walrus. 

“Look, just stick to the plan and don’t worry,” says Walrus, as if it’s that easy. 

“It relies on nothing but dumb luck,” Zuko charges. “It’s stupid. We need a new plan.”

“It doesn’t _just_ rely on dumb luck,” Walrus denies. “It also relies on your ability to lie!” He pauses, maybe for a laugh or a jocular rebuke, but forges on when Zuko refuses to play along. “And we _don’t_ need a new plan, because if this one fails they won’t even know we were _trying_ to escape. That’s the beauty of the plan. It’s a beautiful plan!”

“It’s a stupid plan,” Zuko snaps for maybe the tenth time in the past hour. 

“Oh? What’s your plan again, Lee?”

Zuko bunches up his shoulders and scowls, his skin nearly steaming. It would be heartening if he weren’t so- frustrated. He’s just frustrated. 

“...it’s alright to be nervous,” Walrus says. “But this’ll work. And if it doesn’t work, no problem, we’re just back to square one. _Sure,_ square one is a dark prison cell where we’re slowly being starved to death by a psychopath with mutton chops, but _hey_ , that’s just good motivation.” 

“I’m not nervous,” Zuko says, frowning.

“No, I get it,” Walrus assures, probably aiming for supportive or comforting but hitting much nearer the mark of _infuriating._ “It’s dangerous.”

“I’ve done plenty of dangerous things,” Zuko replies shortly. “More dangerous than this. But this isn’t _just_ dangerous, it’s _stupid._ ” 

“...more dangerous things, huh?”

“Yes,” Zuko confirms, seething. “I’m not some backwater Water Tribe peasant. I’m not _scared._ ”

“I said _nervous_ ,” Walrus drawls. “And has anyone ever mentioned you have a very slight air of elitism to you when you’re nervous?”

“I’m _not_ nervous, and I _am_ elite,” Zuko snaps. “I may not be a firebending master, but I’m still-” He fumbles, because _Prince_ is not what he wants to say here. “I’m still-” What is he? “I’m still a _swordsman._ I trained with Master Piandao for _years._ ” 

“Who is that?”

Zuko scowls, frustrated. “Are you kidding? The greatest swordsman in the _world_.”

“And he taught you?”

“Yes!”

“He taught you how to swing a sword around and it took _years_?”

“He _taught_ me to master the art of the dual doa-” Zuko cuts himself off. 

“He taught you to master the art of...duo dough? What is that, like two loaves at once?”

“No,” says Zuko, quietly panicking. “I don’t- I don’t know how to use swords.”

“...um, what?”

“I’ve never used swords,” Zuko adds. 

“Okay-”

“I only have a pair of antique ones,” Zuko continues a little too loudly. “I’ve never used them.”

“Lee, why are you lying? No, why are you lying so _badly_? You should be practicing. Is this what you’re going to sound like when we’re arguing?” 

“I don’t know how to use dual dao swords,” Zuko sums up fervently.

“Okay?” Walrus sounds hopelessly confused. It’s better than gleefully accusative.

The Blue Spirit can wield those swords; Prince Zuko definitely can’t.

Still, even if Walrus isn’t a spy- and he probably isn’t but maybe he is- there could always be guards lurking just outside the door. Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s the exhaustion. It’s the hunger. It’s the thirst, already growing despite the water in the interrogation chamber. It’s the weird way he hasn’t been watching his words around Walrus as carefully as he should.

“Anyway,” says Walrus, drawing the word out. “Great that you’re either amazing at swords or you’ve never seen one before, but I said elit _ism._ Not elite.”

“Oh.” Zuko tugs at the loose string of his stitching; it’s getting longer, slowly unraveling. He wonders, idly, at what point it turns from shirt to string, from something that matters to something that doesn’t. 

“ _And_ ,” Walrus continues, in the face of his nonreaction. “I asked about your dangerous past.”

“My dangerous past?” Zuko repeats dumbly.

“You said you’ve done more dangerous things than breaking out of a high-security Fire Nation prison where you’re being illegally held and tor- talking to _me._ I need details.”

Zuko’s lips thin. No matter what people think- _everyone_ thinks- he’s not stupid. “You’re trying to distract me,” he charges sourly. “-because you think I’m scared.”

“I’m _trying_ to get answers,” Walrus counters. “-because I _honestly_ can’t think of a more dangerous situation. C’mon,” he prods, when Zuko takes too long to respond. “We have nothing to do except wait for them to come back, and it could be _days._ No offense, but I’m accustomed to a certain level of entertainment.” 

“Sorry I can’t live up to your beaver-seals.”

“Don’t be- they’re dam stiff competition. Now on with the juicy stories.”

Zuko sighs, giving up. He’s learned- over and over because it takes a while for lessons to sink in- that when Walrus gets an idea, he’s intent on seeing it through, no matter logic or reason or fervent refusals. “Fine. Dangerous.” He thinks. He can’t tell that story, _definitely_ can’t tell that story, probably shouldn’t tell that one considering the inherent treason…

“Are you still thinking?”

“ _Obviously._ ” 

“...how about now?”

“ _I’m thinking!_ ”

“Have you considered thinking a little faster? I don’t have much to do to pass the time over here, you know.”

“I have to narrow it down,” Zuko replies, frustrated. “I’m not about to share Fire Nation secrets with the enemy.”

“I’m not your enemy,” Walrus tries. “And since when would an amiable scamp like me be interested in Fire Nation army intelligence?”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “ _Right_.” He thinks. “You know Admiral Zhao?"

Despite the stone wall, Walrus manages to _sound_ as if he looks unimpressed.

“Of course you do,” Zuko mutters. “Obviously. Well, we have a history.”

“As evidenced by his framing you for saving the Avatar,” Walrus recalls, blasé.

Zuko nods. “Exactly.”

“Which you didn’t do.”

“ _Yes._ ”

“But you’ll tell me whether you _actually_ did after we escape.”

“Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Yes, that’s what I _just_ said.”

“About _Zhao.”_

“ _Technically_ he’s in both of them…”

“Ugh-! If you’re going to keep interrupting-”

“Sorry,” Walrus interrupts. “-go on. You were making a powerful enemy.” 

Zuko scowls, then breathes out and relents. “We were docked at the same port. It shouldn’t happen as often as it does, but he has a way of _getting_ in the way. We got into an argument and his soldiers wouldn’t let me leave-”

“Okay, so this guy has tried to capture you _multiple_ times-”

“-and he said he was going to- to complete the mission that _I_ have to complete. In order to complete my mission.” When Walrus _doesn’t_ make fun of him for such an impressively bad sentence, Zuko knows he understands. “And so I challenged him to an Agni Kai.” 

“Sorry, who’s Auntie Kai?”

“ _Agni_ ,” Zuko corrects. 

“Okay, who’s _that_ then?”

“It’s a fight,” he explains irritably. _Everyone_ knows what an Agni Kai is. “A duel.”

“You challenged Zhao to a _duel_?” Walrus’ tone shifts uncertainly. “What is the endgame for a Fire Nation duel? A gentlemanly handshake over impressive fire dancing, or…?” 

Zuko’s hands are shaking again. Why is it so _cold_ in this spirits-damned mountain?! “They’re usually to the death,” he confirms. 

“I can’t help but notice both of you are still alive,” Walrus says carefully. “Did he...decline the challenge?”

“No.” Zuko picks up the tea cup and rolls it in his palm. It’s small, it can hardly hold five sips of water, but it’s still- if he holds it just right, he can imagine it’s a different one, warmed with tea brewed just for him. The thought hurts as much as it helps. He wants to ask, suddenly, if Walrus gets his water in a chipped ceramic tea cup, too, but he thinks he knows what the answer would be.

Zhao’s hatred for him has always been so weirdly _personal_. He doesn’t know what he did to the man, other than exist in the same sphere of sea in the same shade of red. 

“...what happened?”

“We fought,” Zuko answers. “After I beat him-”

“ _You_ beat _Zhao?!_ ”

Zuko scowls. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just- look, I can’t see you, and I’m sure you’re really buff and impressive or whatever, but Zhao is next-level. He’s better than _Zuko._ ”

“No, he’s not,” Zuko denies quickly, furious. His next words are fueled by a strange mix of defensiveness and pride. “Prince Zuko beat him in an Agni Kai. Too.”

“Man, he survived an Agni Kai with you _and_ Prince Zuko? Is he fireproof? Why was Zuko even fighting his own Admiral? The Fire Nation is so _weird_ -”

“It’s _not_ -”

“It’snotweird, yes, I get it. Do these duels happen all the time, then?”

“No,” Zuko says, shifting and feeling a little stupid. Why had he said that? “Zhao just- seems to invite them.”

“I can see that,” Walrus allows lightly. “But,” he continues, tone inching into confusion. “-if you beat him, how is he alive to be putting us in mountain jail?”

“I-” Zuko’s cheeks warm.

“Lee?”

“You’re _expected_ to kill your opponent,” he explains. “You don’t _have_ to. And, I don’t know. I didn’t want to-” smell burning flesh. Watch Zhao crumple in the dirt. Hear him make noises Zuko still makes in his sleep. 

Whatever grudge Zhao has, it isn’t reciprocated to the same blistering degree. Zuko _hates_ him, but not _that_ much.

“You didn’t want to kill him.”

“Of course I did!” Zuko exclaims defensively. If Zhao had done what he’d done to Azula, to Father, to _anyone else_ , he would’ve been a pile of ashes. “I just- he’s still an admiral. Despite our personal differences, he is still doing what’s best for the Fire Nation.”

“Is capturing you included in that?”

“He’s- look, I don’t _like_ him, but that doesn’t mean-” He fumbles in the dark for words to explain. Beating Zhao was _enough._ They were allies, at the end of the day, and once Zuko regained his crown, Zhao would show him his due respect. There was no _need_ for more death.

“Okay,” says Walrus. “I get it.”

Zuko doesn’t think he does, because how could he if Zuko were still so confused by it all, but he shrugs. “So anyway-”

“The story isn’t over? The story doesn’t end with you beating an Admiral?”

“-after I beat him, I turned my back. The Agni Kai was over, and I guess I wasn’t thinking-”

“He took a cheap shot, didn’t he?”

Zuko can still hear it, the building whir of flame over his shoulder. He can still _feel_ it. He wouldn’t have been able to dodge. “My Uncle deflected the hit and he let us go. But, yes.”

Walrus whistles. “You know, I’m starting to think this Zhao guy is a bad apple.”

Zuko snorts. “What about you?”

“Good apple. Well, maybe crabapple, but it’s part of my appeal. Apple peel?”

“No, I mean- you fight soldiers, you save towns from volcanoes. What’s _your_ more dangerous story?”

“Hmm,” Walrus thinks. “There was that one time my sister almost got me killed trying to help some hunky Earthbender, the time she almost got me killed by a less-hunky more wheat-chewing tree-teen, and the time she almost got me killed by pirates.” Zuko listens with growing incredulity. Before he can say a word, however, Walrus continues, “You know, I’m sensing a pattern: all the dangerous moments in my life are directly preceded by me telling my sister _not_ to do something and then her _doing_ that something. It’s a cycle.”

Zuko offers, hesitant but sympathetic, “Sisters can be difficult.”

“Yeah, they’re the worst.” Walrus sighs. “I hope she’s okay.”

“She was in town with you?”

“We got separated,” Walrus confirms. “There was this riot over Earthbending rights, and of _course_ she had to get involved.” 

“You got involved, too.”

“ _Against my will_ ,” Walrus stresses.

Zuko is about to assert that it’s impossible to commit treason against one’s will, but the argument falls flat before he can even make it. Besides, if Walrus is telling the truth, it had been a _toddler_ the soldiers were trying to subdue. When Zuko gets out of here, Father will hear of the injustices being carried out in his name. 

“What were you even doing there?” Zuko asks. “Douxing is Fire Nation territory. Your crew must have been outnumbered.”

“My crew?”

“Your ship.”

“My ship?”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Your _ship_. Your Water Tribe warriors?” 

“What? No. I _just_ said my sister was there.”

“So?”

“So what?”

If Zuko had enough energy to properly shout, he would. “What is your _point_!?”

“I wasn’t with the warriors, I was just with- with my family.”

“What,” Zuko snarks. “-just taking a holiday in warzones?”

“I wouldn’t really call it a _holiday_ _-_ ”

“Why would you start a fight if you were so outnumbered?”

“Were you not listening? I _didn’t._ My sister did.”

“Why would she do that?!”

“ _I don’t know_!”

Zuko groans and throws his face into his hands. “Is your entire family made up of idiots?”

“She’s not an _idiot_ ,” Walrus retorts defensively. “She just _acts_ that way when she sees an entire _people_ being dehumanized and imprisoned.”

Zuko scowls. “It isn’t _like_ that.”

“Oh? You been to Douxing lately?”

Zuko wants to shout a very angry _yes_ , but of course the answer is no. He hasn’t stepped foot in Duoxing since it was annexed and became Fire Nation soil. He scowls and simmers quietly, his silence an obvious answer.

“It’s bad out there,” says Walrus, tone softening. 

Zuko swallows. “I know,” he admits. “But- it’s war. It’ll get better.”

“You really believe that?”

“The Fire Lord knows what he’s doing,” he insists, quietly but fervently. He runs his thumb over the growing crack in the teacup. “If people would just _surrender_ , none of this would be necessary. The Fire Nation has thrived for generations, and there are people who _need_ our help. What’s happening right now may seem cruel, but inaction would be crueler. They’ll- they’ll understand one day, and they’ll be grateful.”

“And this help,” Walrus repeats dubiously. “The _only_ method of delivering it is violence and subjugation? There’s _no_ other technique your _all-knowing_ Fire Lord can devise?”

“I- it’s what has to happen. The other Nations are too stubborn, too proud to accept any other way.”

Walrus is quiet for a moment. “Do you really see me as your enemy?”

“What?”

“Earlier,” he reminds him softly. “You called me your enemy.” 

“Not my enemy,” Zuko corrects awkwardly. “ _The_ enemy. You’re loyal to the Water Tribe. I’m loyal to-”

“The Fire Nation, got it.” 

Zuko shifts uncomfortably. “Just because we’re working together to get out of this place- it doesn’t mean our loyalties will shift. When we escape, we’ll go our separate ways- you to your rebellion, me to my crew.”

“See, that seems weird to me,” Walrus declares flatly. “You’re going to break out of a Fire Nation prison and then- what? Go right back to fighting for the Fire Nation?”

Zuko frowns. “Yes.”

“And this is _after_ you were banished from the Fire Nation and then went _right back to fighting for the Fire Nation._ ”

The frown slinks into a full-blown scowl. “So?”

“So take the hint!” 

Zuko glares down at the metal vent and hopes the expression somehow sneaks through. “They want me back!”

“Ozai might as well have sent you a signed scroll saying, ‘Stay Away!’”

“He _wants_ me back!”

“Being an _enemy_ of the Fire Nation isn’t a _bad_ thing, Lee,” Walrus insists. “It means that, even though you can make little sparks with your fingers, you’re _not_ evil. If you’re at the point where you commit so much treason you’ve stopped counting- to the point where Zhao thinks you’d rescue the number one enemy of your nation and no one _cares_ that you’ve been imprisoned without a trial - maybe stop risking your life over and over for the country that keeps sending you to die!” 

Zuko roars, furious and hurt, hurling the teacup as hard as he can into the dark. 

It shatters loudly.

“...Lee?”

Zuko’s chest rises and falls with fast, ragged breaths, fury building through his abdomen, fire licking under his skin. His heart pounds feverishly, too warm and too fast. He collapses forward, breaths thinning until they’re reedy, wispy things, like whistling through a blade of grass. 

“Lee!?” 

He gasps against the stone floor of his cell. It’s cold and hard beneath his calloused fingers and he focuses on this sensation, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his lungs to expand. He needs Jasmine tea, he thinks absurdly, but he’s broken his only teacup. 

“Lee, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

He tries to answer but it comes out as an undignified croak. He’s going to burn alive, he realizes. Burned inside and out. 

“Hey, hey, stay with me. Breathe. I can breathe with you.” Walrus takes a few exaggerated breaths, loud enough to hear through the vent. Feeling stupid but not alone, Zuko matches the rhythm. 

“I’m fine,” he says when he can almost breathe normally.

“What happened in there?” Walrus demands, as breathless as Zuko feels.

“I think my body just tried to Firebend,” Zuko answers wryly, stretching out his fingers and wincing. “And realized the reserves were depleted.”

“...meaning?”

“I- I got angry and when I’m angry I firebend and firebending needs _energy_ and since I haven’t eaten in days, it just-”

“-started eating away at _you._ ” 

Zuko lays down on his back. He feels exhausted and a little worse than he had before, which was already impressively bad. 

“I’m sorry,” Walrus says finally. “I shouldn’t have- you’re right. We’re just in this to escape together. But I’m not- I wasn’t trying to make you betray your nation for the Water Tribe. You aren’t the moon; you’re not about to change the tides of war. But, from an outsider’s perspective, you have to know how this looks.”

“I know,” says Zuko. “From an outsider’s perspective.”

“And I know we don’t really know each other. I know you’re not _Lee._ But I don’t want you dying for no reason, even if you are-” His tone turns theatrically ominous. “- _The Enemy_.”

Zuko stares up into the black. 

“Lee?”

“I don’t want you to die for no reason either,” Zuko admits. 

“Heart-warming,” Walrus deadpans. 

Zuko doesn't reply. He's had enough heart-warming for today.

\--

It seems strange, Zuko thinks, that his nightmares haven’t adjusted. Shouldn’t he be dreaming about this place? Shouldn’t he be dreaming about the room down the hall?

No is the apparent answer. When he’d woken, he was transported abruptly from the heat of a Caldera stadium to the chill of a mountain cell.

It’s cooler than it was when he fell asleep.

“And I tried to pay the ferryman, but he said that he doesn’t _take_ Water Tribe money. And I asked why and he said it melts. And when I looked in my palm, all my coins had turned into puddles. Do you think that means something? Not like an omen, I mean _psychologically._ ” 

The natural warmth of his body is receding. He’s colder now than he was for all those grueling months he’d chased a rumor through glaciers and snow. He hopes he can still complete the plan. There are a few variations, depending on how the guards respond, but all of them require some degree of firebending. Zuko _needs_ to rest if they're going to pull this off.

But now, even as Walrus tries to distract him, Zuko finds his mind wandering through corridors he'd rather remain unexplored. 

“So I snuck onto the boat _anyway_ , but then realized I’d forgotten my pants _and_ my boo-” 

“He’s a child, you know.” 

“What?” 

“The Avatar. He acts like a _child._ ”

“...yeah? I told you, he’s twelve.”

Zuko remembers twelve. The Avatar is- is _much_ younger than twelve, somehow, no matter what age he actually is. “An _actual_ child,” he explains.

“Yes? Twelve?” Walrus hesitates. “...did you dream about the Avatar? Did he say anything?”

“Say anything?”

“Avatars can travel in dreams, probably. Maybe he’s sending us a message.”

“Why would he send us a message?” 

“I don’t know," Walrus grumbles. “It was just a thought.” 

“We’ve got a plan,” Zuko reminds him flatly, ignoring how little faith he has in the plan. “We don’t _need_ the Avatar.”

“Fair enough. Then why are we talking about him?” 

Zuko shifts. “I don’t know.”

“So you've met him, then? The Avatar?”

“What? I didn’t-”

“I didn’t say _have you freed him._ I asked whether you’d met him. You’re a soldier, right? Plenty of soldiers have met the Avatar. It usually ends with them being thrown off a boat or covered in water, but it’s still _meeting_.”

Zuko thinks over how this could be a trap, then admits, “Yes. I’ve met him.”

“And you saw that he’s a kid.”

Zuko doesn’t reply.

“And maybe you’re wondering why your Prince is hunting him down like an animal?”

“He’s hunting him down like he’s an _enemy of the Fire Nation_ ,” Zuko snaps. “It doesn’t matter that he’s a _kid._ Of _course_ Prince Zuko is trying to capture him.”

“You started this conversation,” Walrus replies lightly.

“Well, that’s not what I _meant._ ”

“Then tell me what you meant.” 

Zuko feels heat in his chest as his anger grows; he swallows slowly, unwilling to let his temper (and his temperature) rise. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. He frowns. “Have you met him?”

“Yes,” says Walrus. “He saved my life. Multiple times.” 

Zuko frowns down at his hands. If Walrus recognizes him when they escape-

The other man sighs a little, then says, “Get some sleep, Lee. I’ll keep watch a little longer.”

“I can do it-”

“Just- get some rest. It’s fine.”

Zuko lays back down on the stone. He expects it to be difficult. He’s cold and uncomfortable. He’s- he’s _nervous_ , and right now he also feels _guilty,_ and he feels guilty for feeling guilty, and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. 

But he still falls asleep immediately. 

The whisper seems to come immediately, too.

“Lee,” says Walrus, just loud enough to wake him. “They’re coming.”

Zuko’s eyes snap open.

“I said shut your mouth!” he roars, slamming his hand against the metal vent. He uses the wall to help him stand. “You pathetic- snowball! Or I’ll- melt you!” 

“Oh, yeah, Jerkbender? Why don’t you come over and try?”

“I’ll make you slush!” Zuko shouts, and he’d _practiced_ this in his head, why was it coming out so badly?

“Big words behind a big wall,” sneers Walrus loudly.

The door to Zuko’s cell creaks open, and he twists his face into an expression of rage as light spills into the darkness. This isn’t hard to fake.

“Having a little spat?” Laughs the soldier, too amused to play intimidating. 

Zuko blinks. There are only three guards.

He’s been underestimated his entire life; this time, it might actually pay off. 

“This _peasant_ insulted me for the last time!” He shouts, keeping his articulation clear and his tone pompous. They’ll want to see him knocked down a peg. He knows they will.

“Oh, have I insulted Ser Fancy Pants?” Walrus sing-songs from the other room. “Oh, _no!_ I’m _so_ scared!”

“You should be!”

“You gonna challenge the kid to an Agni Kai, your _highness_ ?” Jeers Guard Number One as they grab Zuko by the wrist. The bones grind together, and it _hurts_ , but he just snarls,

“ _Maybe I will!_ ”

“Hey, Water Tribe boy isn’t a bender,” remarks Guard Number Two. “Prince might actually have a shot.”

“If he decides to _fight_ this time…” Replies Number One, and Zuko can hear the sneer through the faceplate. 

“I’d fight!” He shouts, struggling against the hold even as he relies on it to keep himself upright. “I’ll kill him!” 

“He serious? He can’t even stand.”

The guards glance among themselves as Zuko tries vainly to escape. 

Then Guard Number One and Guard Number Two turn to Guard Number Three. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” they hem, hesitant with their newfound authority. “Zhao wants that one kept safe until he can _personally_ question him and put him on the hook.”

“Aw, c’mon Jee, like he’ll do any damage. Look at him!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Zuko fumes, playing into it.

“Yeah, let Water Lily get a few licks in. We’ll pull his royal highness out before he gets scalped.” The guard pats Zuko too familiarly, and Zuko doesn’t have to fake flinching.

“Allllright. Fine. But quickly, okay? Yu is waiting.”

“Ah, let him wait.” 

Zuko watches with baited breath as they open the door, then gasps as he’s flung into the unfamiliar blackness. He slams into the ground.

“Hey, Jerkbender,” says a voice somewhere to the left, and the door slams shut. 

Fighting in the dark is hard. Fake fighting in the dark while jamming the door shut with a pair of hungry bodies is harder. They grunt loudly and dramatically, trading insults and pained shouts, as the guards pound at the door.

“That little Wet Rot sealed the door!”

“Did he freeze it? Can he bend? They said he couldn’t bend!”

“ _Damn_ it, help me with this spirits-damned thing-! If they kill each other, we’re gonna-”

Walrus and Zuko wait for the third strike to move back from the door. Two guards barrel over each other into the black. As the third steps into the doorway, puzzled but not yet defensive, Walrus kicks the back of their knees. The moment they sway off balance, he slams their helmet with a fist-sized rock. Guard Number Three crashes down to the stone with a solid _thunk!_

Zuko dashes into the hall, Walrus at his heels. They pull the cell door shut together, and Zuko focuses on its metal frame, putting every last bit of energy he has into melting it and then stealing back the heat. They secure the door tightly as the iron cools, their breaths ragged and uneven, as those on the other side shout and begin to pound against the metal.

This should hold long enough for a decent head start. No alarms were raised; the interrogator won't be expecting anything. Zuko might be exhausted and his vision might be tunneling and his knees might feel like melting wax, but the hard part is over.

“Um.”

Zuko turns, expecting a grin and bragging and maybe a bad pun. 

He gets a dirty water tribe peasant with a too-familiar face. 

“...your name is definitely not Lee.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any plan Sokka devises to escape fire nation prisons will always involve fake-fighting Zuko. It just will.


	4. The First Escape

Zuko’s eyes widen. Less than a foot away, Walrus shares his expression of horror.

It’s him. It’s _definitely_ him. His cheekbones are a little more prominent than the last time they’d crossed paths, his hair is greasy and wild rather than tied up in its ersatz phoenix plume, and his clothing is, even for a _peasant_ , bedraggled. But it’s _him._

The Avatar’s accomplice. The one who’d stood against Zuko when he entered the Avatar’s Water Tribe hideout, who’d stood between Zuko and his destiny- who’d hit Zuko in the head with a boomerang. _Multiple_ times. 

Sukka.

No.

_Sokka._

That’s it.

Zuko stares. The Water Tribesman stares back. His hold on the rock is white-knuckled. He looks, as Zuko feels, as if he’d very much like to shout something impolite.

“No,” Zuko agrees slowly, weighing up his odds. “I’m not.”

The peasant has been here fewer days. The peasant has eaten more recently. The peasant hasn’t been tortured. The peasant hasn’t just wasted the last of his energy melting a metal door, and the peasant has a _weapon_ . It’s only a rock, Zuko decides derisively, and ignores that the peasant doesn’t really _need_ anything more. 

He shifts his stance into something more stable and raises his fists.

The peasant, in return, just raises his eyebrows. He looks at Zuko, _really_ looks, and the banished Prince doesn’t flinch, doesn’t let himself feel ashamed of the scars and bruises. He can still _fight._ Those guards underestimated him because they saw an emaciated prisoner- let Water Tribe make the same mistake. 

Sokka- steps back?

“I vote we deal with this later,” he declares, tone only a little strained. He gestures to the sealed door, but never takes his eyes off Zuko. “They’re gonna break out of there way sooner than I want them to, so how about we run now and you can try to kill me later?” 

Zuko glares, but eases out of his stance. “Fine.” 

“Lead the way,” Sokka says, nodding forward. 

Zuko very pointedly does not turn his back on his enemy. He crosses his arms and waits. The peasant _knows_ the route. Zuko had forced him to memorize it in case only one of them managed to escape. 

Sokka huffs out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. _I’ll_ lead the way. You can just follow along like a little lemming-pup.” He begins walking then frowns over his shoulder, a little less frustrated and a little more wary. “Just remember that we’re not _out_ yet, and we’re in this _together_ , so don’t punch fire at my back.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Zuko hisses, scowling.

“Oh, I know, I know,” Sokka assures. “Just wanted to, y’know, _confirm._ ” 

Zuko rolls his eyes, annoyed, but follows as the Water Tribesman leads. The tunnels are high-walled but narrow, sconces suspended every few feet, the torches casting everything in a flickering orange. The darkness of Zuko’s cell had been almost compassionately deceptive; though he knew it was small, it was easy to ignore when he couldn’t _see_ the walls buckling in around him. As they make their way through the corridor, however, the claustrophobic nature of the fortress is undeniable, and Zuko’s breaths come thinner. 

He doesn’t want to go back. _He can’t go back._

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts in reply, forcing his breaths to smooth. He can’t afford panic; he can’t even afford the comfort of rage _._ Phantom flame still lingers in his blood, ready to ignite if he loses control.

He just needs to ignore that he’s about to collapse, that he’s surrounded by stone that seems to be closing in, that his only ally is his enemy. The firelight glints off of the stone in Sokka’s hand, and Zuko swallows. He just needs to make it out. If he can make it out, then he can handle whatever comes next. 

Uncle might say that isn’t a plan. Uncle isn’t here. 

They come to a fork and Sokka glances back at him. “Left, right?” 

“Left,” Zuko answers.

“Right,” Sokka says, and turns left.

Zuko follows, barely keeping up with the peasant’s pace. He feels as he did when racing Azula on the beaches outside their summer home on Ember Island. The solid stone beneath him is shifting sand. His steps are beginning to wobble.

“Left?” Sokka confirms at the next fork, and Zuko just nods, mouth too dry to reply. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, as if he’s actually been _running._ Sokka begins to move, then frowns back at him. “Still okay?”

“I said I’m fine,” Zuko snaps immediately, stalking forward.

Sokka doesn’t ask again. At the next fork, he doesn’t even bother confirming what he knows to be the correct route, turning without a single glance back at his Fire Nation shadow.

Zuko is grateful when they finally arrive at the familiar door; any more running, and he might have collapsed. He’s also grateful that there have been no shouts or bells of alarm. The guards are likely still trapped in Sokka’s cell, banging frantically against the metal door. Zuko guesses they’ll be able to escape relatively quickly once they begin to think rather than flounder. 

But they’ll be too late. He and Sokka are almost to the window- they’re almost _out._

“This is it,” he says. “We need to hurry.”

Sokka glances at him. “He was alone last time?”

Zuko nods.

The Water Tribesman’s expression turns contemplative. “You know what escapees don’t do?”

Zuko frowns.

 _"Knock,”_ Sokka answers, smiling, before rapping on the door three times. 

“Come in, come in!” Shouts a voice from inside. “It’s unlocked!”

Sokka knocks again.

“What, are you deaf? I said-” The door swings open, revealing an agitated face that quickly turns confused. “-it’s open?”

“Hello,” says Sokka much too cheerily. “You must be Yu.”

Before the interrogator can say a word, Sokka tackles him to the ground. The man recovers from the surprise attack quickly and manages to get a few good hits in, but Sokka has a rock, which turns out to be more helpful. As the two men continue to grapple, Zuko frowns around the room, searching for something helpful. 

There are a series of tools neatly laid out beside the interrogator’s desk, some pointed and some blunt and some familiar. Zuko grabs the rope. As Sokka holds Yu down, Zuko ties the man’s ankles and wrists together. 

He’s gotten much better at knots ever since his captives _kept_ escaping.

“There,” says Sokka, brushing his hands off triumphantly. “That takes care of Yu.” 

“I knew it,” Yu growls, spitting up blood. Even though Sokka is the one that’s just broken his nose, he glares at Zuko. “I _knew_ you were a dirty traitor.” 

Zuko's fists clench tighter and he roars, “I am _not_ a _-_!” 

“Hey,” Sokka interrupts, raising an open palm and slipping his way between Zuko and the interrogator. “Keep it down. We’re trying _not_ to attract attention, right?” 

Zuko glares.

Sokka...doesn’t glare. Just sort of _looks._

“Right,” Zuko agrees finally, tensely.

“Taking orders from the enemy now?” Yu sneers. “What _would_ your father think?”

“Probably something obnoxiously evil,” Sokka replies idly. He walks to the window, a perfect circle of bright, tempting azure. “You know, nothing _too_ out of the ordi-” He freezes.

Zuko frowns at the abrupt halt, storming over to see what has caused such a reaction. The moment he looks through the window, his heart sinks. 

It’s a sheer drop. Nothing but umber sandstone stretching down further than he can see, the base of the mountain swallowed whole by opaque fog. The cliffside is smooth. No handholds. 

No way out. 

When Sokka speaks, his voice is high-pitched and strained. “We… are high up.” 

“What,” scoffs Yu. “You thought you could just _jump_ out of here like some sort of Airbender? This is a _prison_. Why would the interrogation chamber have a way _out_ ? Oh, when Admiral Zhao hears about _this_ -!”

Zuko continues to stare, his heart pounding. He feels foolish and ridiculous and _guilty_ and- and this was all a huge waste of _time_ , and even if he wasn’t a traitor before, now they’ve got _proof_ of his colluding with a Fire Nation Enemy and-

“Hey,” says Sokka, right in front of him. Rather than dismayed, he looks determined. “We’re still way better off than we were an hour ago. Take a look around for something that can help. I’m gonna go stuff a week-old sock in that guy’s mouth.” 

For the first time, Yu sounds disturbed. “...what?”

Zuko echoes the sentiment.

“So he doesn’t scream for help,” Sokka explains. “Be right back.”

As he gags their prisoner, Zuko considers the room. 

Like everywhere else in this damn mountain, it’s a cramped space. While its primary purpose is advanced interrogation, it seems to double as the Interrogator’s office, including a single wooden chair and a short, narrow desk. The surface of the desk is plain: a small portrait of Fire Lord Ozai, a clean ink bowl, a fresh sheet of parchment, and a single quill. If the man has any keys or maps, Zuko thinks, they’re probably inside. The first drawer he opens is full of additional tools. He slams it shut quickly, feeling queasy. 

Sokka approaches the desk, ignoring the muffled complaints behind him. “Find anything?”

“What am I even supposed to be _looking_ for?” Zuko demands, disappointment and impatience melding with already formidable frustration.

“More rope, man-sized kite, incredibly long ladder?”

Zuko shakes his head, scowling. “There’s _nothing._ ”

Sokka’s gaze flickers just past Zuko’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, grinning. “Not _nothing._ Check it out!” He beelines around the desk, kneeling beside a trough of water. “He has water!” He glances at the Interrogator. “Do you keep all of your water like this?” Yu glares unhelpfully over his gag, and Sokka turns back to Zuko. “Is this a Fire Nation thing? Is it poisoned?”

“It’s not poisoned,” Zuko says tightly, resuming his search of the desk. Wanted posters, letters, notes. “It’s just water.”

Sokka hesitates for all of two seconds before cupping his hands and drinking greedily. When he’s had a few sips, he sighs, satisfied. “You should probably have some of this,” he recommends. 

Zuko continues rummaging. Ink, quills, a bad poem. “I’m fine.”

“I know you’re not,” Sokka counters flatly. He frowns. “It’s _really_ not poisoned, right?”

“It’s just water,” Zuko snarls, heart thumping rapidly. He jerks open the final drawer with a little too much force. His eyes widen as steel clatters noisily against wood. “My knife-!” 

Sokka frowns up from his inspection of the water. “Knife?” 

Zuko lifts the weapon, unsheathing it slowly. Sunlight glints off of the metal, and for a moment he can see his own distorted reflection. “My knife was here,” he says. “-this entire time.” Five feet away from where he needed it.

“A knife is good,” Sokka allows. “But we still need a way out of here.” His eyes flicker to Yu. “Of course, _he_ probably knows the way out. If we interrogate an interrogator, what does that make us?”

“Free,” Zuko answers, standing, fingers digging into the metal. He feels that familiar heat rising in his gut, and he breathes to temper it. He can’t fail when he’s so close. 

Azula wouldn’t fail. So what _would_ she do? 

Zuko crouches down beside Yu and tangles his fingers in his hair. He pulls just enough to tilt Yu’s head back and expose his bare throat. He meets the man's furious eyes and tries to look intimidating. It’s easier than it was before the scar. He rips out the gag. “The exit.”

Yu struggles against his binds, stubborn as an Earthbender. “I would _never_ betray the Fire Lord.”

“Neither would I,” Zuko promises, holding the blade scant centimeters from the man’s throat. 

Yu stills, the fire of his glare doused to a fearful uncertainty. 

Sokka stands. “Uh, Zuko?”

“My Father and Agni himself have willed me to capture the Avatar,” Zuko continues, ignoring the interruption. He brings the knife closer, lets the cold metal skim skin, though he keeps his grasp loose enough that he won't accidentally hurt Yu if the older man bucks. “If killing you is the only way to escape and fulfill this destiny, I will do my duty.” 

“Zuko-”

“The exit,” Zuko repeats firmly, his right hand tightening in Yu’s sweaty hair. He can feel the man tremble, and can only hope his own trembles aren’t felt in return. “Tell me.”

“I- Zhao-”

“-is not your Prince,” Zuko finishes. “The exit. I won’t ask again.” 

Yu stares up at him, his tawny eyes wide and his breathing fast. His gaze flickers uncertainly to Sokka, the man who’d beaten him and somehow become his last hope for mercy.

“Don’t look at me,” insists Sokka with strained indifference, raising his open palms. “This seems like real Fire Nation business right here. I’m all Water Tribe.”

“They’ll catch you,” Yu hisses.

“Maybe,” Zuko agrees. He doesn’t remove the knife. “Will you be around to see it happen?” 

“You’re bluffing,” Yu charges. “You’re no son of Agni, you're a _coward_.” 

Zuko doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. He just waits. 

For a hardened interrogator, Yu breaks quickly. Zuko wonders absently whether it’s because he knows of all the things that could be done to him in the name of answers. The tools are right there, after all, and Yu has seen them all put to good use. “You’re close,” he admits finally, looking away. “Down the hall, first right, then first left. Go until you see the door.”

“You wouldn’t lie, would you?” Zuko wonders with casual maliciousness, mimicking the cadence of Azula’s words when she played with the servants. 

“No, Your Highness,” Yu breathes, and Zuko nods.

“Good.” He presses the sock back in place, then stands. When he wobbles, Sokka catches him by the elbow. Zuko quickly shakes him off, scowling. “Let’s go,” he snaps. 

Instead of heading to the door, Sokka considers him. “That was a bluff, right?” 

Zuko meets his gaze evenly, refusing to give up this advantage. If Sokka fears him, sees him as capable and willing to do whatever it takes, maybe he’ll be too scared to-

“Where was _that_ when we were arguing in front of the guards? You said you were going to turn me into _slush!_ ”

Zuko’s eyes widen, then promptly narrow to slits. “I _wasn’t_ bluffing.”

“See, you’ve lost it,” Sokka says, shaking his head. “But for a minute there, I bought it. I mean, I _almost_ bought it; you didn't even _scratch_ him.” 

“I’m _not_ bluffing,” Zuko repeats, scowling.

“So you were gonna slit his throat just now?”

Zuko shifts. “Yes.” 

“All tied up like that, after some jerk stuck a sock in his mouth?”

Zuko glares. He has no idea how he lost control of the situation. Azula wouldn’t have. “Can we just _go_?”

“Yeah, yeah, one more second,” Sokka insists, not sounding very intimidated. “I need to trade out my rock.” He lifts a large mallet from the table. “Not really my style,” he admits as he taps it experimentally against the meat of his palm. “-but when one’s boomerang doesn’t come back, one must adapt.”

Zuko considers. While it will probably come back to bite him the moment they escape, he would rather _get_ to that moment. The Water Tribesman needs a weapon he can competently handle. “Bottom drawer.”

Sokka glances up, brow quirked. “Excuse me?”

“Bottom drawer,” Zuko repeats, glaring. “Right side.” Rationale aside, he doesn’t have to _like_ giving his enemy a weapon to use against him. 

Looking torn between curiosity and bemusement, Sokka opens the bottom drawer. His eyes light up. “Boomerang!” He scoops the weapon up, clutching it to his chest as if it were an infant. “I knew you would come back,” he whispers melodramatically.

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Are you done?”

“Were you just going to let me walk out of here without it?” Sokka demands, but he sounds more teasing than angry. He sounds like he had when he thought Zuko was Lee. 

“Yes,” Zuko replies flatly, already moving to the door. 

Sokka considers the slight wobble of Zuko’s walk and says, “Hey, get some water before we go. You collapsing in the middle of our escape makes the whole escape plan seem less impressive, and that reflects on _me_.” 

Zuko glares back at him. “We don’t have time for this,” he hisses, refusing to let his head get near that water, no matter how thirsty he may be. “-and I don’t take orders from _peasants._ We’re _leaving_.” 

Sokka rolls his eyes, annoyed. “What is up with you? You obviously need it. It’s not like it’s going to bite y-” He breaks off, attention shifting abruptly from Zuko to the bucket to Yu. He doesn’t look frustrated or amused anymore. Zuko isn’t sure what to call this expression. Without another word, Sokka walks to the desk, grabbing the unused ink bowl and dipping it to its rim in the trough. He holds it out to Zuko. “Drink.” 

Zuko stares, baffled. 

_"Drink_ ,” Sokka repeats, brooking no denial, not forcing the bowl into Zuko’s hands but very nearly at that point.

Zuko takes it hesitantly. The moment he takes his first slow sip, he can’t help but gulp down the rest. It tastes as it had when he was thrashing just below the surface, like stagnant pondwater, but it might be the best thing he’s ever had. Sokka refills the bowl without being asked or asking anything in return. Zuko accepts it.

When he finishes his second bowl of water, feeling only a little nauseous from drinking so much at once, he places it back on Yu’s desk. He doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes and refuses to even _glance_ in the direction of the interrogator. “We need to go,” he mutters, face warm. “We’ve wasted too much time.” 

Sokka nods without replying. As he walks to the door, he glances at Yu. The interrogator looks miserable, maybe because he’d betrayed his duty and maybe because he’d betrayed his duty for a bluff from a notoriously bad liar. Sokka’s eyes are narrow; his grip on the boomerang is tight. 

Zuko frowns at the delay, beyond impatient. “ _We need to go_.”

“Right,” Sokka says, tone subdued. He turns away from Yu. “Let’s get out of here.” 

\--

Sokka is silent as they move through the hall. Zuko takes advantage of this uncharacteristic blessing, his good ear perked for any sort of noise. He mostly hears the water slosh in his empty stomach. He feels ashamed for the way he’d behaved in the interrogation room, but if Sokka thinks he’s a coward, Zuko will prove him wrong. This promise buzzes in his mind, urging him along despite how exhaustion begs his surrender. 

Sokka keeps to Zuko’s pace, but it’s clear he'd prefer going faster. Zuko forces his legs to pump, running until all he can hear is the rhythm of his steps against the stone and his own heavy breathing. The world around him feels distant and his vision speckles with static, but he doesn’t slow. He refuses to be dead weight. 

It's just after the second turn that they hear the distant crash of metal slamming against stone. Shouts echo through the labyrinthine corridors, equal parts jubilant and furious.

Sokka frowns over his shoulder at the commotion. “I _think_ they might have escaped. Any chance you can run faster?”

Zuko doesn’t think so, but he grunts and propels forward anyway. His ears are ringing, his mind is foggy, but they’re almost out. He can _do_ this, he knows he can.

“The door shouldn’t be too much further,” says the Water Tribesman, squinting. “If Yu was telling the truth, we’re almost out.” 

Zuko keeps going but the tunnel seems endless, the torches spanning on and on into oblivion and somehow the hall still seems darker with every foot forward, every step reverberating through him from head to toe, vibrating like the strings on a pipa. Even running as fast as he can, he realizes suddenly, he’s holding Walrus back. His rhythm falters and he stumbles. 

The other man skids to a stop, twisting to backtrack. “Zuko-!”

“I’m fine,” he growls immediately, shoving him away _._ “Just-” He tries to stand, fails, then uses the wall to clamber back to his feet. “Just keep going. I’ll keep them busy.” 

“Zuko, come _on_ ,” he insists exasperatedly _._ “You can barely stand; you can’t _fight_.” 

“I’m not a coward.” Zuko raises the knife and turns his back. “I can always fight.” 

“No offense, but the only way that tiny knife is going to save the day is if they all fall down laughing and accidentally stab each other.” Walrus shifts anxiously. “We need to go.” 

Zuko shakes his head. He swears he can hear the metal footfalls approaching.

“There’s too many of them, Zuko,” Walrus insists. “ _We need to go._ ”

“Go, then. I won’t run.” The inscription on the knife glints: _Never give up without a fight._ His hold on the pearl handle tightens. It feels secure. The rest of him might well be floating. 

Walrus rolls his eyes and backs up, holding his hands aloft dismissively. “Fine. Go don’t be a coward and immediately get captured, this time _without_ a mastermind to set you free.”

Zuko grits his teeth. 

“I’m _sure_ your Uncle would be thrilled,” Walrus adds, still not leaving him behind. 

Zuko falters, finally glancing back. The peasant watches him flatly, and he _still_ isn’t running, even though Zuko _told_ him to do so. Zuko’s blood rushes. He can’t hear the soldiers anymore past its roar. He can’t hear his own thoughts. 

“Come on,” Walrus says then, grabbing Zuko’s wrist. “You can always come back later if you decide you want to be murdered today.” 

Zuko allows himself to be dragged down the hall. He feels lighter than air, as if his limbs were balloons connected by thin strings. He wonders, absentmindedly, whether this is how air nomads feel. He remembers there aren’t any air nomads left and feels inexplicably sad. The tunnels seem much darker than before. 

“You okay?” Walrus asks.

“I don’t know,” Zuko admits honestly. “I don’t think I can run much more. You- you need to keep going without me, Walrus. They can’t get both of us. “

“...you’re right,” says Walrus. “They can’t.” 

Zuko prepares to be dropped, but isn’t. Walrus just keeps going, accepting more and more weight as Zuko’s legs begin to give out. “What are you doing?!”

“Just stay with me,” Walrus says. “Only a little further, then you can rest.”

“I don’t _need_ rest,” Zuko grumbles. 

“Right,” says Walrus. “Of course you don’t. My mistake.” 

They slow down and Zuko glares blearily at the door in front of them. 

Walrus hesitates. “This is either a way out,” he says. “-or it’s a fight.”

“I’m ready to fight,” Zuko promises, halfway on the ground and catching his breath. 

“Obviously,” Walrus agrees. “And we don’t have much of a choice. Just trying to think of a better plan than _walk in_.” 

Zuko thinks. “Give me fire,” he says.

“Buddy, I appreciate the input, but you’re a little less lucid than I need you to be.” 

“The _torch_ ,” Zuko clarifies, closing his eyes. The rest, minor as it is, is clearing his mind a little. “I can’t make fire right now, but I can hold it and I can use it. I can distract them.” 

Sokka shifts, then nods. “Okay.” He rests Zuko awkwardly against the wall, then retrieves a torch from the nearest sconce. 

Zuko dips his fingers into the orange-red flames and lets a small portion pool in his hands. It's not at all like his inner fire, a desperate hungry scrap. This is _real_ fire, fire that glows happily and spreads warmth into his skin, steady as a sleeping heartbeat. He swallows, then nods. “Open it.”

Sokka does.

\--

Yu had not lied, but his truth wasn’t quite complete. This _is_ a way out- Zuko smells fresh mountain air and sees a steep path down and hears the distant cawing of nesting grouse-falcons- but it is also a _guarded_ way out. 

Two soldiers cock their helmets as the door opens; both stand as Zuko and Sokka step out. 

“Stand down,” Zuko orders, firmly if a little raspily. “I am your _Prince._ ”

His answer, rather predictably, is a pair of fireballs.

“Worth a shot,” Sokka offers supportively, throwing his boomerang and watching as it sails over the ducking soldiers. “They _might_ have gone for it.” It comes sailing right back in a perfect arc, ringing against the first soldier’s helmet and knocking them down.

Zuko winces sympathetically even as he blasts the second soldier with his borrowed fire. As they stumble back, Sokka chasing after with his freshly recovered boomerang raised like a club, Zuko clambers to ensure the first soldier is unconscious. He removes her helmet and delivers one swift hit to her temple. When he looks back, Sokka is just finishing up with the other soldier, shirt a little burned but expression thrilled. 

“I just beat up _two_ benders,” he says with a grin.

Zuko shrugs, trying not to seem too impressed. “The boomerang did most of the work.”

Sokka snorts as he begins to rifle around the soldier’s armor.

Zuko frowns. “What are you doing?”

“These are guards,” Sokka replies, continuing to search. “They sit out here for _hours_ at a time doing _nothing_ but keeping watch.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“So I did the same thing back in my village. And the number one thing you need when keeping guard-” He removes a small bag from the soldier’s pocket. “-is snacks.”

Zuko’s eyes widen, and he quickly moves back to _his_ soldier. He’s elated to find a small bag of jerky. He stuffs a few pieces in his mouth as he stands, then follows Sokka down the narrow path leading away from the cave entrance. 

It’s a steep decline- and an even steeper drop with one misstep- so Zuko keeps his left hand on the cliffside for balance. He breathes steadily, lets the sunlight warm his skin, and breathes the freshest air he’s ever tasted. Every once in a while, even though he knows he should save it, he takes another bite of jerky. 

Though they’re out of the prison, they’re not out of danger. Zuko needs to figure out where this leaves their tentative alliance. “We made it out,” he notes. 

Though Sokka is facing forward, Zuko can hear his grin. “Told you my plan was great.” 

“Your plan didn’t even _work._ We couldn’t use the window.”

“Eh, plans are made to be adjusted.”

“I don’t think you know what a plan is,” Zuko mutters, smiling a little. He can’t see Sokka’s face, only his back, and that makes it easy to fall into old patterns. His smile lessens. He needs to remember that this _isn’t_ Walrus. Well, it _is,_ but Walrus isn’t- he’s- Zuko needs to know where they stand, is all. If the plan is over…

“The path is widening out,” Sokka says. “Keep an eye out, but I think we’re almost in the clear.”

“Then…” Zuko hesitates, then nods decisively. “Then it’s time we split up.”

Sokka frowns over his shoulder. “What?”

“The plan was to work together until we escaped. We escaped.”

Sokka’s frown deepens. “Zuko, they’re going to come after us. In the state you’re in-”

“We said we would split up, and that’s what we’re going to do,” Zuko interrupts angrily, unwilling to hear the rest of that sentence. “I don’t need your help and I don’t want your pity.”

Sokka’s lips thin and he turns away. They continue their awkward march in silence, trying to keep a good pace while also avoiding a much faster, windier descent. Eventually, the path smooths into a small clearing. Bright green grass tickles Zuko’s exposed ankles. Just ahead, a small waterfall overflows into a river. It twists down a steep slope into the fog, its current fast and churning. 

Both men rush to its banks, cupping their hands and taking a few sips. It tastes clean and fresh and it’s so cold Zuko nearly shivers. He’s so focused on this he hardly even _hears_ Sokka’s next words:

“The path ends here.”

Zuko looks up, frowning as he discovers Sokka is right. The path led here and no further. 

“The only way down,” continues the Water Tribesman, considering the water thoughtfully. “-is the river.” 

Zuko nods and stands. “Fine.” As he takes his first step into the fast-flowing river, Sokka catches his arm and pulls him back. 

“What are you _doing_?” He demands, flabbergasted. 

“I’m not afraid of _water_ ,” Zuko snaps. 

Sokka’s expression flickers between irritated and irritatingly knowing. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You _said_ this was the only way down.” 

“Down _where_ , Zuko? Where does it go?”

“I’ll figure that out when I get there!” 

“Okay,” drawls Sokka, rolling his eyes. “You _could_ do that, Mr. I-Don’t-Like-Thinking-Things-Through, but there’s a _pretty_ good chance you’re just going to break a whole bunch of limbs or drown. We have no idea where that goes.”

Zuko glares. “It’s the only way down!”

“Yes,” Sokka agrees, like he’s stupid. “So they’ll _assume_ we went that way.” 

Zuko continues to glare. “So _what_?” 

“The only way _down_ ,” Sokka repeats meaningfully, waggling his eyebrows. 

Zuko is too surprised to keep up the glare. “You want to climb _up_?”

“Take it from a guy who travels with an Airbender: people don’t look up as often as they should.” He points across the river. "Just look."

Zuko does, frowning. There are cracks in the bedrock, he notices reluctantly, handholds to climb up towards where the water overflows. It would be a hard climb, but he’s climbed harder. “And when do we get _down_?”

“We wait until the heat dies down,” Sokka replies. He waits a beat. “Heat. _Heat_ , Zuko.” Zuko has recovered his power to glare. “Look, we’d have ready access to water. You’d have the sun, which is a thing you apparently need. You- _we_ could get back our strength. We could see if there’s a better way down somewhere else. We could-” 

From somewhere too close, metal boots on stone interrupt his pitch.

“Time to decide,” Sokka says, already walking down the shore into the water. 

Zuko shifts, glancing over his shoulder. “Fine,” he snaps finally, following. “But it’s a stupid plan.” 

“As long as it’s as good as my _last_ stupid plan, we’ll be fine.” Sokka cuts through to the other side of the river, stepping carefully on the rocky bed and not the mud. “Don’t leave footprints,” he advises. 

Zuko nods, carefully choosing his steps.

Up close, the wall seems taller, but Zuko has gone through too much today to let _that_ stop him. He climbs slower than Sokka, of course, but he still _climbs_ , even when his limbs beg him to just let go. When he has nearly reached the jagged top, Sokka hoists him up the rest of the way. Zuko collapses on the stone, chest heaving. 

He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. When he opens them again, he is fairly certain he has begun to hallucinate. 

The peasant is taking off his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” He growls.

“Selling it,” Sokka answers, throwing the bundle of fabric into the river.

Both men stare as it is caught by angry currents, pulled down and almost out of sight. Zuko is about to demand what the _hell_ that was about when he hears-

“I saw him! I saw the Waterbender!” 

“Where is he?”

“They went down the river-!”

“Well- well, go after him!”

“You _serious,_ Jee? The only way I’d survive is if _I_ were a Waterbender. We- we’ve gotta get a hawk down there fast!”

“We need to send a missive to Admiral Zhao-!”

“-where the hell is _Yu-_?!”

There is a great deal of cursing and frantic yelling, but Sokka was right. No one looks up. No one even _thinks_ to look up. The next time he chases the Avatar, Zuko decides, he is going to look up every damn chance he gets. 

The voices slowly drift away, metal boots stomping up the cliffside, and then the only noise is the roaring waterfall. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” Zuko breathes, resting back against the stone. The late afternoon sun warms his skin. His thirst is quenched, his hunger is lessened, and his exhaustion is complete. If he weren't sitting a foot from a man who hated him, he might even sleep. 

“I can,” Sokka replies pompously. He removes his bag of jerky. “My plans are beautiful. Now we just relax and leave whenever we feel like it.” He takes a bite of the meat. “You know, seal jerky is better- _obviously_ \- but this isn’t half bad. What kind of meat is this?”

Zuko slumps. “Turtleduck.”

Sokka frowns at the negative reaction, looking back at the jerky with concern. “What, are they super gross or something?” He stares warily for a moment longer before shrugging and eating it anyway.

“No,” Zuko replies tiredly. “They’re just cute.” 

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Then Sokka begins laughing, loud and clear and with no apparent interest in keeping their location secret. 

“Shut up-!” Zuko demands, properly offended, cheeks burning with embarrassment. What was wrong with him? _Why had he said that?_ They _are_ cute _,_ but you don’t just _say_ that-

“No, no,” Sokka manages. “It’s just-” He takes a break from cackling just long enough to exclaim: "Aang is gonna _love_ you!” 

Zuko watches his enemy rolling with laughter and wonders if, maybe, he would have been better off braving the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that they're out and other people aren't trying to kill them, how long until they try to kill each other? Zuko votes one hour, Sokka is making best friend bracelets.


	5. The Second Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter works best if you listen to Benny Hill music on a loop.

Zuko is exhausted.

He’s definitely been more exhausted in his life- he’s just not sure _when._

Above them stretches an impossibly vast lilac sky, interrupted only by thin clouds and the occasional over-eager star. Zuko stares up at it, searching for constellations in the lingering twilight, but it’s too early for any real identifications to be made. Still, after weeks locked away in a small stone cell, these few lonesome stars may be the most satisfying things he’s ever seen. 

While freedom may be satisfying, it’s also cold _._ He draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, desperate to ward off the encroaching chill. He doesn’t dare try to make a campfire, both because it could attract attention and because it would waste energy he doesn’t have to give. His inner fire feels more like a neighboring ember. He shifts. The cold _might_ be a blessing. If it were warmer _,_ he might actually fall asleep.

He blinks very slowly. 

Several feet away, Sokka blinks very slowly, too.

The Water Tribesman had offered to take the first watch. Zuko had politely declined, and offered to take it himself. Sokka had also declined.

Sooner or later, Zuko thinks, one of them will fall asleep.

It will not be him.

“So,” says Sokka, as ever at odds with peace and quiet. “You’re Prince Zuko.”

Zuko glares over his knees. “Obviously.”

“Not as obvious as you’d think,” Sokka replies matter-of-factly.

The Water Tribesman is laid out on his side as if eager to tempt his palpable exhaustion. Zuko has chosen a much more sensible position: sitting upright against the stone so that the uneven rock digs into the small of his back, a constant reminder to keep his eyes open. Both men have carefully selected positions as far away from the other as possible, a difficult task on a ledge half the size of Zuko’s chamber on the _Wani._ The slightest breeze might knock the peasant down into the clearing below. 

“Although,” Sokka drawls when Zuko doesn’t respond. “-looking back, it _should_ have been obvious: fancy fire fighter with an honor-obsession and an abiding passion for shouting. Can’t be _too_ many of those running around.” He shudders dramatically. “Spirits, I _hope_ there aren’t.” 

Zuko increases the intensity of his glare, but it’s in vain. Sokka is in the midst of a very long blink. Just when the Prince begins to relax, certain he’s outlasted the enemy, those blue eyes ease open once more. 

“You know,” he says. “I have questions.”

Zuko scowls at the sheer _impertinence_ of the implied request. “I don’t care.”

“- _and_ ,” Sokka continues loudly, sitting up and pointing. “-I bet you have some, too.”

“Why would I have questions?” Zuko scoffs. “What does a _peasant_ know that I don’t?”

Sokka shrugs idly. “Information about the Avatar?”

Zuko stills. “You wouldn’t tell me that,” he accuses carefully.

“I don’t know,” Sokka replies, digging into the cracks of his teeth with his pinky fingernail. He wrestles for a moment, then flicks away a small shred of turtleduck. “I might.” 

“I’m not giving you Fire Nation intelligence,” Zuko says immediately, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat at the very _possibility_ of a lead. “-and I don’t need your help tracking down the Avatar. I’ve found him before and I’ll find him again.” 

“Sounds time-consuming,” Sokka decides, his tone still deceptively light. “Besides, maybe I don’t _want_ Fire Nation intelligence.” 

That steals the air from Zuko’s next retort. He hesitates, trying to find the trick. There must be one. Sokka may be a moron, but he’s not stupid. “What _would_ you want?” 

“Simple stuff,” Sokka assures. “No need to tell me troop formations or battle plans or the Firelord’s allergies.” He grins. “Unless you really want to.” 

Zuko thinks. This must be why Sokka hadn’t just killed him when he had the chance. With Zuko out of the way, the Avatar and his little band of fugitives would have had one fewer enemy at their heels. Whatever information he wants from Zuko _must_ be important.

...But what could he possibly know worth the trouble of dragging his dead weight around during the escape? It’s not as though Father keeps him apprised of anything crucial to the war effort. He doesn’t even respond to _letters_. He- he understands Zuko needs to focus on the Avatar, after all.

But Sokka doesn’t know that. He thinks Zuko has information he needs, and if he were really willing to offer information on the Avatar… Zuko could _use_ that.

Zuko has been locked in a Fire Nation prison for weeks for a crime he’d committed and then _lied_ about committing. Not only that, he’d escaped- helped the _Avatar’s ally_ escape. But if he succeeded in this, the entire thing could be excused. Who would care about a few small treasons if he sailed into Caldera with the Avatar in chains?

Father wouldn’t listen to Zhao, wouldn’t even _ask_ about the Blue Spirit. He would- he’d-

The mental image flickers into a strange static. How _would_ Father behave if he were proud of his eldest child? Zuko isn’t sure. All he knows is that he _wants_ to know.

“Look,” Sokka says, and Zuko is suddenly aware he’s been quiet too long. He’d begun to _slump._ “How about you sleep on it?”

“It’s your turn to sleep,” Zuko counters promptly, glaring his way out of the mild doze. 

“Uh, _no._ You need to sleep, bud.” Zuko opens his mouth to argue, but the Water Tribesman raises a hand. “You do, Zuko. The only thing keeping you conscious right now is stubborn spite, and while I get that that’s your _thing_ , maybe consider branching out. I promise you can shout more in the morning. I’ll even get my ears ready,” he adds, wiggling them obnoxiously. 

Zuko glares, unamused. “I’m fine,” he insists stonily. “I’ll keep watch.” 

Sokka groans, exasperated. “Honestly, hearing that you’ll watch me while I sleep is horrifying.”

“ _Keep_ watch,” Zuko snaps, embarrassed despite himself. “I wouldn’t _watch_ you.” 

“Still a horrifying prospect,” Sokka retorts indignantly. 

Zuko glares, but understands. If Sokka wanted him dead, he could have ensured it this afternoon. He needs answers and won’t want to kill Zuko until he has them. Zuko _hadn’t_ had a chance to kill him this afternoon, and has been clear that he wants their partnership to end. 

Concern is...rational. 

He should probably feel proud that he’s intimidated one of the Avatar’s lackeys, but he doesn’t. Zuko wouldn’t kill his _worst_ enemy in such a dishonorable way, and Sokka is far from that. Sokka saved his life. Sokka was _Walrus._

“I-” Zuko falters. “If you’re worried,” he tries again, looking anywhere but at the peasant. “I wouldn’t. Hurt you, I mean. In your sleep?”

“You sound so unsure of that,” Sokka observes, wincing.

“I’m not unsure!” He snaps. “I wouldn’t do that! I’m not _like_ that. I’m-” He thinks of a better way to do this, then continues, calmer, “On my honor, as the son of Lady Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, I will not harm you while you sleep, Sokka of the Southern Watertribe.” 

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “What, is that some fancy oath of honor?”

Zuko grinds his teeth. “Yes.” 

“That’s so _cool_ ,” Sokka sighs. “We don’t have anything like that. We just...shake _hands._ ” 

Zuko blinks, a little surprised. He’d assumed Sokka was mocking the practice. “You can...borrow it?”

Sokka glances up, amused. “Borrow it?”

“If you have a pledge to make,” Zuko explains, feeling stupid. Why had he said that? Before Sokka can even _consider_ replying, Zuko crosses his arms and scowls away. “Whatever, if you don’t believe me-”

“I believe you,” Sokka interrupts. “But I can wait. You need-” 

“You’re tired and it’s your turn,” Zuko asserts flatly. “I’ll keep-” _watch._ “-an eye out.” He glares, challenging the Water Tribesman to doubt his oath of honor. 

He doesn’t. Sokka just nods. With no further complaint, he lays down, pillows his arms beneath his head, and begins snoring.

He cannot _possibly_ be asleep already.

Zuko stares, halfway tempted to poke him for confirmation. He resists the urge and turns his attention back up to the sky. It’s finally dark enough to see the stars. The constellations are familiar, but tell him no more than he’d already guessed. It seems they’re still on the Western coast of the Earth Kingdom. A day or two walk from the port where he’d been captured, he decides, if they’re in the mountains he thinks they’re in. 

He wonders, suddenly, how he will find Uncle. 

The ship won’t still be there. Why would it be? He can’t ask anyone where it might be stationed without risking his freedom. Until he clears up this misunderstanding, he’ll be a target. And for all he knows, Uncle has already headed back to the Fire Nation anyway.

Escape seemed so impossible that he’d never thought beyond getting outside. He’d never wondered about how he would find his ship or how he could explain away his choices. At least Uncle would understand. He hides it better, but he doesn’t like Zhao any more than Zuko does, and he _knows_ that the Admiral had been out to get him. He would talk to Father, if it became necessary. He would say Zuko wasn’t the Blue Spirit.

Would he lie, if they asked whether Zuko were on the ship that night?

It would be demanding more from a man who’d already given up everything for his failure of a nephew. He can’t expect Uncle Iroh to lie to the _Fire Lord_. 

Zuko swallows. There’s only one way all of this is forgiven.

And if Sokka is really offering intelligence that could help, Zuko would be a fool to turn him away. There’s going to be a trick of course, there always is, but Zuko can handle himself. 

He _will_ capture the Avatar and deliver him to the Fire Lord. He’ll regain his honor and his home and his _life_.

Decision made, Zuko lets his mind wander somewhere pleasant. He imagines Zhao’s face the moment he realizes his prisoners have escaped. 

The picture is more satisfying than the infinite sky. 

\--

Dawn trickles in a lifetime later. Zuko’s eyes keep slipping shut, and his chin keeps dipping down. If it weren’t for his bony knees, he probably would have succumbed completely. Sokka has continued to sleep soundly, his snores rivaling the volume of the churning waterfall. He’s also flopped around a _lot_ ; there were several times Zuko was prepared to catch him before he rolled right off the ledge. 

When he’s abruptly silent and _not_ flailing like a dying fish, Zuko knows he’s awake. He tries not to react, but can’t help it; his shoulders stiffen and his breaths slow. 

Sokka turns his head, regarding Zuko sleepily. “You’re still here.”

Zuko frowns. “Was I supposed to leave?”

“No,” Sokka says, slowly sitting up. He drags his palms against his eyes, yawning wide like a hippo-cat. “Just wasn’t sure.” He squints towards the Western mountains. The view is mostly obscured by rolling pink-and-yellow fog, but a few peaks pierce through. “Is it _dawn_? I haven’t woken up at dawn since-” He breaks off to consider. “Never,” he decides, stunned. “I thought dawn was a myth.” 

Zuko can’t tell whether he’s joking or if this is some strange way of breaking the tension, but he doesn’t care either way. His response to such an inane comment can only be a glare. 

“I see you’ve gotten a headstart on being cranky,” Sokka observes under his breath. He shivers. “Spirits, why is it so _cold._ ”

“You threw your shirt away,” Zuko answers with little sympathy. 

“In order to save the _day_ ,” Sokka replies promptly. “You’re welcome.” He shivers again and wraps his lanky arms around his abdomen. “Well, it’s your turn to get some sleep.”

“You said you would tell me where the Avatar was,” Zuko reminds him, unwilling to get side-tracked with another pointless argument. 

Sokka considers. “I said I might,” he says finally. “-if you answered my questions.”

“So ask,” Zuko insists, rising to the challenge. 

Sokka opens his mouth as if that’s just what he intends to do, but then he closes it again. He hesitates. “Food. We should get food.”

“Is that all you think about?” Zuko snipes.

“Sometimes I diversify,” Sokka assures. “That’s when I drink.” 

“Where do you expect to find anything to eat? We’re not exactly in a marketplace.”

“Not one I’d recommend,” Sokka admits. “Honestly, not sure there’s much around here. We may have to get going as soon as you’ve slept.” 

“We can leave now,” Zuko says immediately. “I’m fine.” 

“You are _not_ -”

“I’ve rested all night,” Zuko counters. “I’ve eaten. I’ve had water. I’m ready.”

“Zuko-” Sokka breaks off and pinches the bridge of his nose. “How are you _alive_? Who made you sleep before I came along?”

“Uncle,” Zuko answers before realizing it was probably a rhetorical question. He sneers to cover up the stupid answer. “And I don’t need any more of your plans. You may be too scared to leave, but I’m not.” He stands. “I don’t need a _peasant_ to-”

“Yes, yes, you’re so royal and fancy,” Sokka assures, still lazily sprawled on the stone. “I’m incredibly impressed.”

“You _should_ be,” Zuko snaps, simmering and already a little light-headed.

“I am,” Sokka promises, a lot like someone who wasn’t all that impressed with Zuko’s royal heritage would sound. The peasant considers. “How about this: on my honor, as the son of Lady Kya and Chief Hakoda, I will not harm you while you sleep, Zuko of the Fire-”

“Stop there,” Zuko interrupts, ears burning.

Sokka frowns. “What, did I get it wrong? Do I not say that part?”

“You said it fine. I get it.” Zuko may collapse more than sit, but he is successfully on the ground. He says, for the record, “I wasn’t _scared_ that you’d attack.”

“I didn’t say you were. I was just offering peace of mind.”

“I don’t _need_ peace of mind,” Zuko snarls. Sokka raises his hands in surrender. He doesn’t say anything, perhaps sensing Zuko’s wavering opposition. It’s just- he’s _so_ tired. And it’s probably better that he be fully rested when Sokka no longer needs him alive. “We’ll leave as soon as I sleep? And you’ll tell me about the Avatar?”

“If that’s what you want,” Sokka agrees easily. 

Zuko lays back very uncomfortably. His heart is pounding. He knows Sokka won’t hurt him, probably, not yet, but- he might _dream._ “Fine. Whatever.”

“Thank you,” offers Sokka amiably. 

Zuko stares straight up. He can feel the sun slowly rising up in the East, and it’s soothing despite everything. He remains ramrod stiff.

“Hey,” says Sokka. “I’m gonna go down to the clearing.”

Zuko frowns at him. “What? Why?”

“See if there’s any food. You know, plants. Like...meat eats. Don’t worry, I’ll shout if I’m being brutally murdered.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappears over the ledge.

Zuko settles back down and lets his breaths slow. He observes the sky through half-lidded eyes, the currents of wispy white on blue. It reminds him of Uncle. A lifetime ago, they’d sat together on some quiet Caldera beach, watching as the clouds rolled slowly overhead. He’d commented, stupid and garrulous with youth, that it reminded him of the sea. That _is_ the sea, Uncle had replied. The clouds that play in your sky once swam in your grandfather’s ocean. While it is all the same water, it changes into many different shapes. That, for instance, is a hog-monkey. 

Zuko had burst into surprised laughter. Lu Ten had snorted like a hog-monkey and made him laugh even _harder_.

This is the last thing Zuko remembers before he slips into dreamless oblivion. 

\--

Zuko wakes up to conversation. It twists his stomach agitatedly, and he’s not sure why until he starts to ask and a hand presses against his lips. He shifts forward, prepared to fight, when it clicks. He’s not at home. He’s not on the ship.

He’s nowhere conversation should be.

Sokka must see the understanding in his expression, for he slowly withdraws his hand. 

“How many?” Zuko asks, voice low enough to be drowned in the roar of the waterfall.

“Three,” Sokka whispers. “Still want to leave?” 

Zuko nods.

“I have a plan. This one is _actually_ stupid. Want to try it?” 

“They’re all actually stupid,” Zuko whispers back.

Sokka waits.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Yes.” 

\--

It _is_ a stupid plan, but Zuko is slowly gaining faith in stupidity. 

There are three soldiers eating their lunch beside the river, two of whom seem about the right size. Once he and Zuko are disguised, they can march right through the tunnels to find a better way out, not to mention whatever they’re eating smells _great-_

“-wait, wait,” Zuko interrupts. “How do we make sure they won’t follow us? If they tell anyone we stole their armor, they’ll question every guard they find. They’d find us.”

Sokka stares at him. “Are you kidding? There’s a river. We toss them in.”

Zuko crosses his arms. “No.”

“What?” 

“They’d _die._ ”

“We don’t _know_ that,” Sokka tries.

“New plan,” Zuko insists.

“ _Seriously?_ They’ve held you prisoner for _weeks._ They _hurt_ you!”

Zuko doesn’t back down. They’re Fire Nation citizens, and he is their _Prince_. He won’t hold them responsible for his mistakes. _“_ We are _not_ killing them.”

“ _Zuko_ -” Sokka sighs. “I was really hoping you were going to be the rational okay-with-killing member of the group. But no, just another turtleduck-loving pacifist.” 

“I’m fine with killing,” he defends, glaring. “I’m a _soldier_ and Prince of the Fire Nation and I would proudly kill if it became necessary. _Happily._ I _love_ k-”

“I get it, I get it,” Sokka interrupts exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “You’re bloodthirsty. You’re killing me right _now._ ”

“It’s not necessary here,” Zuko asserts earnestly. 

“Have _you_ got any bright non-lethal ideas?”

Zuko shrugs. “I’m not the mastermind.”

“Fair point,” Sokka allows, mildly appeased. He cups his chin, index finger tapping rhythmically against his cheek.

“What if we kept climbing?” Zuko poses after a moment. “There might be another way.”

“I took a look around while you were sleeping,” Sokka replies. “It’s a steep climb up with no guarantee of a safe way down the other side. Maybe if we had rope, or a giant trampoline, or a handy Airbender...As it is, I don’t think it’s worth the risk.” 

“Even if we go back into the prison, we don’t know the way out,” Zuko points out. “The tunnels run for miles. If they know we’re impersonating soldiers and there are two soldiers wandering in circles, they’ll figure it out.” 

Sokka bobs his head. “ _If_ they know we’re impersonating soldiers." Then, beseechingly, “They _could_ be really good swimmers.” 

“I said _no_ -!” Zuko roars before slapping a hand over his mouth, horrified. 

“What was that?” Wonders an unfamiliar voice a dozen feet down. 

Zuko and Sokka exchange panicked looks. 

“You hear that?” The voice insists unhelpfully. “Sounded like a shout.”

“Nah, it’s those damn grouse-falcons. Mating season.”

“If that was a bird, I’m the _Avatar_.” 

“Hey, we finally got him!”

“Yeah, funny stuff. You gonna keep laughing when Zhao roasts us all for losing his bait?”

“Eh, you might be deep-fried, there, Wenti.” 

“Will you both keep _quiet_ ?! I’m telling you, it was a _person_. It could be-”

The soldiers startle backwards as their Prince drops from the sky into a perfect fighting stance. “Surrender,” he orders.

For a moment, the only noise is the churning water and the distant sound of a palm smacking a forehead. 

Then they attack.

Feeling more rested than he has in weeks, Zuko easily dodges the barrage of fireballs. Only two of them seem to be benders and, while they’re trained well, they don’t hold a candle to his sparring partners on the _Wani._ Zuko hurls a flaming arc towards their heads, then sweeps their feet as they sway off balance. Both collapse into the grass with loud grunts. 

Behind him, Sokka attacks the largest of the three soldiers. His tactic revolves primarily around shouting insults while trying and failing to hit his opponent with a boomerang. Zuko doesn’t bother with concern; Sokka can handle them. And, if he can’t, he can at least play distraction until Zuko can help. 

As one of Zuko’s opponents toddle awkwardly back to their feet, the other rushes forward. They leap to perform a flawless spinning hook kick, a _whoosh!_ of red-hot flame chasing their heel. It would probably be impressive if Zuko hadn’t drilled this exact scenario a dozen times. He jabs his hand through the flames, parting the fire like a curtain, and grabs the soldier’s ankle. He jerks it forward, knocking them off balance and back to the ground. He slams the helmet against the dirt for good measure, then quickly dodges a blast of fire from his left.

The second soldier is just as easy to put down. They seem more panicked and a little less experienced. Zuko lets himself feel amused as fire sails past him and through him. Zhao has certainly downgraded since he was in charge of the Yuyan Archers. _They_ would have been prepared for battle, lunch break or not. 

He turns from his fallen opponents just in time to watch as Sokka’s boomerang finally makes contact with his enemy. He and Zuko watch in tandem as the soldier belly-flops into the river. “Accident,” Sokka squeaks as Zuko barrels past him.

He groans as he drags the unconscious body free of the current and back onto the shore, sweating profusely and suddenly aware of his own exhaustion. He hasn’t moved like that in _weeks_. It was exhilarating in the moment, but now…

They stare at the three bodies. Zuko shifts, feeling less than thrilled with the success. 

There isn’t even any _food_ left. It’s all been trampled.

Sokka glances at him. “Now what?”

“Now we-” Zuko has no idea. “We change. Put on the armor.” 

“And _then_ -?”

“Then comes later,” Zuko says as he stomps over to one of the unconscious benders. He quickly and grumpily begins tearing off the armor. 

Sokka sighs but follows his lead. “They’re going to wake up.” 

“I know that.”

“ _Soon_.” 

“I _know that!_ ” Zuko hisses, furiously squeezing into the slightly-too-small under-armour. “Don’t _you_ have any ideas?”

“Obviously. I was just curious where this whole thing was going. I mean, there's no way you just jumped off a cliff with no plan?...Right?” Zuko fumes quietly and focuses on adjusting his chestpiece. “Is this how you chased us?” Sokka wonders, sounding honestly baffled. “How have you almost captured us _so much?"_

“I did capture you!” Zuko snaps. “Multiple times!”

“Not me,” Sokka denies, raising his hands. “My extremely naive companions. A _gilnet_ could capture them.” 

“Well.” Zuko falters. He pulls on the helmet. It severely limits his vision, something that may prove problematic in the low-lit tunnels, especially if they need to fight. For now, he flips up the visor. “I never wanted to capture _you,_ did I?” 

“Don’t see why not.” Sokka flips up his visor, too, revealing a flat expression. “I am a _delight_.” Before Zuko can reply, he begins walking. “If you insist they don't go swimming today, we have to hurry and get to the guardpost.”

Zuko follows, loud and heavy. “The guardpost?” 

“Just let me do the talking,” Sokka instructs as they maneuver up the narrow path. “And don’t attack before I tell you to. The plan before was stupid. This one?” He taps down his visor. “ _Idiotic.”_

\--

As before, there are two guards when they reach the guardpost. They’re leaning back on the wall and absentmindedly tossing a small ball of flame back and forth. As Zuko and Sokka come around the bend, the ball twists to fling towards them. 

It remains more playful than offensive, so Zuko merely throws it back, resisting the urge to turn it into an attack.

The ball fizzles in the first Guard’s palm. “Weren't there three of you?”

“Wenti is still eating,” Sokka replies readily. 

“Lucky him,” they grumble. “I’m starved. We’ve been out here all damn morning.” 

“Go grab some lunch,” Sokka suggests. “We can cover.”

The soldiers hesitate, glancing at each other. “You’re sure?” 

Sokka nods. “Yeah, we should probably wait for him anyway. And you know _him-_ that’ll be ages.” 

The guards laugh and enter the fortress, chatting idly as they go about what foods might be available, any potential suspicion allayed by their empty stomachs.

Zuko furrows his brow. “What is this? Why didn’t we fight them? What are we doing?”

“We’re going to cover for them. Your job,” says Sokka firmly. “-is to remain _silent._ You understand?” 

Zuko bristles. “I will not be ordered around by some-”

“Zuko, _I_ will not bet my freedom on your ability to improvise. _Turn me into slush?_ ”

Zuko crosses his arms. “Fine. But this is _stupid._ ”

“Stupid like an owl-fox,” Sokka preens, flipping up his visor just to wink.

\--

They’ve been inexplicably standing guard for less than five minutes when they hear shouting. Three guards scramble into view, the two half-dressed soldiers leading the way.

“They’re still on the mountain!” Shouts the scrawnier of the two, tearing towards the guardpost. “They’re still here-!”

Sokka cocks his helmet at the outburst. “What’re you doing down here? Didn’t you _just_ go in?”

“That wasn’t us!” He exclaims furiously. “That was them! Prince Zuko and the Waterbender! They never left- they attacked us and stole our armor! _They’re still here!_ ”

Sokka gasps. Zuko does, too, a second late. 

The second soldier appears horrified. “They came this way? They’re _inside_?!”

“They- they just walked by us! We thought they were you!” Sokka gasps again, loudly and a little too dramatically in Zuko’s opinion. “They must be headed for the main exit!” 

“We gotta stop them!” Roars Wenti, barreling through the door. 

Zuko and Sokka follow at his heels, storming through the tunnels they’d once fled. As per his promise, Zuko remains quiet. He does not mention, even a little bit, that _his_ soldiers would not have been fooled by a ruse this stupid. 

Probably.

Impossibly, the guards _do_ lead the way to the main exit, a dozen turns and twists away from the guardpost. When they come to the massive doors, flanked on either side by six elite guards, they quickly explain the problem.

“They haven’t come this way,” says the lead guard unsurely. “I mean, we had some supplies dropped off a little while ago, but they’re the only ones that came through this way.”

“We’ll check in with them,” Sokka says authoritatively. “Just to be sure. They stole armor-” He gestures to the shivering half-dressed men hovering behind him. “-so they may have snuck out with our soldiers.” He stalks forward and the doors open for him. Zuko and a few others follow at his heels. “Don’t let anyone else through here!” Sokka orders over his shoulder. 

“Yes, sir!” Shouts the Fire Nation guard to the Water Tribe peasant.

\--

The road is initially steep and well worn stone but, after a couple miles, it becomes less of a road and more of a large dirt path. It leaves behind rocky terrain and winds its way into thick forest; while the shade is a blessing, the path is perilously uneven. Zuko stares at his boots, trying his best to avoid raised roots and small holes even as he keeps his ears perked for conversation. There are four additional soldiers here, unknowns who could be suspicious, and he needs to be ready if one decides to _act_ on those suspicions. Given their current pace, they should catch up to the supply cart soon. Zuko has no idea what Sokka plans to do then. They're already dangerously outnumbered.

From far away, thunder rolls loud and low like a Pasi Gong. 

A soldier drifts uncomfortably close. “Hey there.”

Zuko stares at his feet. “Hi.”

“...Lee?”

“Yes,” says Zuko stiffly, glancing up, relief that it’s Sokka battling annoyance that it’s Sokka. “Obviously.”

“Lee who likes turtleducks?” 

Zuko stalks forward. 

Sokka adjusts his own pace, remaining directly at his side. “If you’re Lee who likes turtleducks, you have to tell me. Everyone looks the same in this armor.”

“Yes,” Zuko hisses. “It’s me. What do you want?”

“Honestly?” The armored figure shrugs. “Just wanted to say, real quick, ‘Can you believe that worked?’ Because _I_ can’t believe it worked.”

Zuko scowls. “You didn’t think your own plan would work?”

“I mean, that flawlessly? Not really. That said, I think it’s about time we lose these guys. I’d rather _not_ have to fight off an entire supply guard.” 

“I was thinking the same thing,” he admits. 

Sokka pauses. “So, we can definitely beat them up, right? It’d be almost _boringly_ easy?” 

“Of course," Zuko says with more confidence than he really feels. 

“Want to try _one_ more stupid plan? Just for fun? If it fails, we’ll just hit them.” 

Zuko hesitates, reluctantly intrigued. They _should_ just attack, but... “What is it?”

Sokka stops suddenly. “Did you hear that?” He asks loudly. 

The other soldiers slow, glancing out into the dark forest. “...hear what?” 

“Shh,” Sokka orders, holding up a hand. “They’re here. I know it.”

“...the Prince?”

“ _Obviously_ the Prince,” hisses one of the other soldiers.

Thunder rolls again, loud and ominous.

Sokka steps towards the edge of the forest. “Did you hear _that_?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” says someone nervously. 

“I think I heard it,” Zuko offers. He can’t believe this is working. 

“I think I heard it, too,” adds someone else. 

“They’re here,” Sokka says surely. “We need to split up, two to a team. Don’t get separated and send a flare if you find them. Admiral Zhao wants them alive and he wants them _yesterday_ , understand? Do it!” 

Zuko trots to Sokka’s side as the others quickly split into teams themselves. They march into the woods, each in a different direction. 

Sokka’s helmet regards him. “...Lee?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Zuko hisses.

“...I can _not_ believe that worked.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, they're out of the mountain range and officially free. All that's left are a few casual not-at-all-anger-inducing questions and then it's right back to Avatar Hunting Season (Sokka maintains it's Fire Lord Season). 
> 
> Getting from Point A to Point B took wayyy longer than I initially expected, so I chopped this chapter in half (it was getting to be a behemoth). The next part is already written and will probably be up pretty soon.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments/kudos!!


	6. The Talk

They walk in silence.

It’s harder to walk in the woods than on the main road, but Zuko refuses to lift the visor. One glimpse of his true face would ruin everything. He swears he can still hear the occasional crack of twigs or distant conversation, and he’s not willing to risk it. 

Sokka doesn’t speak, and Zuko can’t tell whether it’s caution or discomfort. Now that they’re really out, the only thing left to do is exchange information and part ways. Zuko still isn’t sure what he’ll do _after_ that, but he’s anxious to get to it anyway. The last few days have been... confusing.

In the cell, Walrus wasn’t just an ally, despite what Zuko might have told himself. He was a source of comfort. He was a friend. Always a temporary friend, Zuko _always_ knew he’d hate Zuko if he really knew who he was, but- he was still a friend. He didn’t mock Zuko for being weak, or despise him for being on the other side of the war. 

But now they’re out, and Walrus is _Sokka_ , and so Walrus hates him.

It’s not as if he cares what Sokka thinks of him, of course, because the man is just some peasant, an enemy of the Fire Nation, an ally of the Avatar, someone who’d- who’d carried Zuko through the mountain, fought alongside him _,_ kept watch as he’d slept, even _knowing_ his identity. When Zuko wanted mercy for Fire Nation soldiers who didn’t deserve to die, when he’d spoken out with no real right to do so...Sokka had _listened._

He was his _enemy._ Why had he done that? Why had _he_ done that when-

He trips over a large root and pitches face-forward into the ground. When Sokka moves to help him, Zuko quickly shoves him back. “Get off!”

“Geez, sorry. Didn’t realize you _meant_ to fall on your face.” 

Zuko clambers to his feet, marching forward a little faster. He needs to stop thinking like this. Sokka is the enemy. Walrus was _always_ an enemy. He is not out here to commit further treason. He _isn’t._ He’s learned the damn lesson. 

Thunder rolls, closer now than before. 

“...you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Why do you keep asking that?”

“You keep getting injured,” Sokka answers, shrugging.

“There should be a town up ahead,” Zuko says instead of responding. “If we’re where I think we are, we can get there in a few hours.” 

“Good,” he replies evenly. For a few moments, the only sound is the crunching of leaves and sticks underfoot. Sokka can’t let the quiet last. “What are you going to do after that?”

“I’m going to find my ship,” Zuko says. “I’m going to find my Uncle, and I’m going to find the Avatar.” He glares at his companion, daring him to challenge the goal, but Sokka can’t see his glare through the mask and he can’t see Sokka’s reaction through _his._

“Hm.” He doesn’t sound intimidated. “And you call _my_ plans stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Zuko snarls. “Do you honestly think my Father will care about any of this if I return with the Avatar?”

“Hm,” Sokka hums again, unimpressed. “And you’re going to find your ship _how_ exactly?”

“I’m going to figure that out,” Zuko says, scowling down at his boots.

“Oh, good. As long as you have a plan.”

“This was a misunderstanding,” he insists, annoyed with himself for getting caught up in another pointless argument but also unwilling to _lose_ another pointless argument. “Once it’s cleared up, I’ll get my ship _and_ the Avatar.”

“Oh, right, the misunderstanding. Because you’re _not_ the Blue Spirit.”

“Of _course_ I’m not,” Zuko agrees angrily. 

“Hm,” hums Sokka a third time.

“Will you _stop_ that?” Zuko snaps, turning from the ground to glare. He remembers it’s pointless seconds before he trips over a rock; Sokka catches him before he even hits the ground.

“Are you having trouble seeing through the mask?”

Zuko’s face flushes as he frantically pulls free. “I can see fine. I don’t need your _help._ ”

“We’re far enough from the others. You can flip it up.”

“I can _see_.”

“Fine,” Sokka says. “I’m doing mine, though. Way too humid.” He flips up his visor and makes a big show of breathing deep. “Ahh, the sweet smell of freedom.”

Zuko ignores him and focuses on not falling a third time. 

“You know,” Sokka says after a few minutes have passed. “You helped me first.” 

“What?” 

“You said you didn't want my help,” Sokka elaborates, staring straight forward. His expression is contemplative, _serious_ , like it had been in Yu’s chamber. “But the thing is, in the cave, you helped me first. All you knew about me was that I was an enemy and that I was cold. And you helped.”

Zuko falters. “I didn’t- that wasn’t _anything._ ”

“You firebent when you could barely stand,” Sokka replies crossly. “It hurt you to help, and you helped anyway.”

“So what?” Zuko snaps, feeling defensive. “I didn’t even know who you were. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I would do it _again_.”

“Right.” Thunder cracks close, and the air tastes like fresh ozone. Sokka squints up at the treetops. The sky is only visible in patches through the thick foliage, but what sneaks past is a foreboding gray. “We should find some shelter pretty soon.” 

Zuko sneers. “You’re going to let a little rain stop you?”

“Do _you_ wanna march in wet metal boots? I’m down a sock! We should stop, at least until it passes.”

Lightning flashes, drenching everything in a split-second sheen of pure light, including Sokka’s hopeful expression. 

“Fine,” Zuko grumbles. His slightly-too-tight shoes are already miserable, anyway. 

\--

They eventually find a mammoth tree on its side, hollowed by rot and age. Dark green moss climbs up its shattered bark, soft and already moist. It’s only drizzling now, but there’s a tension in the air which suggests it will be a brutal storm. They sit within the deteriorating sanctuary and listen as the rain picks up its pace, from a meandering patter to a ferocious roar. 

Sokka removes his upper armor, complaining as he does so about its unnecessarily pointed shoulders and cumbersome chest plates. He then leans forward, holding out his helmet to collect rainwater. He takes a sip and grimaces. “Ugh, tastes like Firebender dandruff. _Fire flakes._ ” 

Zuko rolls his eyes as he removes his own chestplate, but carefully rinses his helmet before letting it fill. When he drinks, it’s cold and fresh. 

“On the bright side,” Sokka remarks, settling back against the bark. “This probably sucks for everyone chasing us, too. Plus they think I’m a waterbender, so they’re probably _terrified_.” 

Zuko ignores him, sick of talking. Sick of being _confused_. That’s all he’s been since the Stronghold. He fiddles with the loose string of his shirt, annoyed to find it further frayed. 

“Keep pulling that thread, it’s going to unravel,” Sokka warns, noticing the movement. “And then you’ll be shirtless and cold and no one will give you any sympathy.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko replies flatly. “It’s already ruined.” 

“Well, you could always turn it into something else, then.”

Zuko frowns up. “Something else?” 

“Sure, no sense wasting good material. You could weave it into something new. Like... rope. Who doesn’t need rope? As long as, y’know, you’ve got the patience to make it into rope. Hm, is that silk?” He considers. “Probably better to just buy new rope, actually. And a new shirt. You’re rich, aren’t you?”

No longer listening, Zuko just stares at the unraveling thread. At the possibilities. 

“You said you had questions,” he notes slowly. 

Sokka sips his water. “I did.”

“And that if I answered them, you would offer information on the Avatar.”

“I said that, too.” 

“We’re _stuck_ here.”

“All of this is true,” Sokka mutters. “Okay. I- uh. I have a _lot_ of questions.”

“So ask.”

Sokka shifts uneasily. Zuko hadn’t even noticed how _at ease_ he’d been before. “I- okay. So- everything you said. Up in the mountain. Was it true?”

Zuko frowns. “My name _isn’t_ Lee.”

“Other than that,” Sokka scoffs, rolling his eyes. He looks more amused than anxious which is somehow gratifying. “I mean-” His tone drifts serious again. “Everything _else._ ” 

“I’m not a liar." 

“I know. I just want- clarification. I want to _understand_.”

“Understand _what_?”

Sokka hesitates one second longer before blurting out, “You’re banished, right? That wasn’t a lie?”

Zuko bristles. “Why would I lie about that?!”

Sokka raises his hand placatingly. “Just confirming! I mean, I didn’t _know_ that.” When Zuko doesn’t start yelling and throwing fire around their small wooden shelter, Sokka relaxes incrementally. “It’s like- you want to know about the Avatar, right? The kid who thinks floating marbles might be the greatest entertainment of our generation?”

Zuko doesn’t answer; he just glares. Sokka _knows_ he does.

“Well, I wanna know about the guy who thinks every conversation is just an opportunity to shout Fire Nation propaganda. It didn’t make much sense when I thought you were some random banished soldier; it makes _less_ sense when you’re a literal Prince. How does a Prince even _get_ banished?” 

“I told you,” Zuko replies shortly.

“You insulted your dad and so he threw you out?”

“I wasn’t trying to insult him,” Zuko hastens to defend himself, _hating_ that he’s even _trying_ to defend himself. “It was a mistake. One I regret and _will_ make right.”

“Had to be one heck of a mistake to be worth banishing your own son,” Sokka notes.

“It was,” he admits, glancing away. “I was arrogant and I was naive.” He shouldn’t have shouted during the war meeting. He could have approached Father later, in a more respectful way, to discuss his concerns. Father would have listened, then. Of course he would have. Or maybe rectifying his mistake would mean going back to the Agni Kai, choosing to fight instead of beg. Father would have respected him if he’d fought instead of cowering in the dirt like a child. Either way: “I should have behaved more honorably.”

“And this was three years ago? You haven’t been back since?” When Zuko nods, Sokka doesn’t say anything else. He just squints out at the rain, thinking. 

Zuko waits stiffly. He doesn’t understand why Sokka asked about the banishment, but it’s important somehow. Sokka thinks _differently_ , sees opportunities where Zuko sees walls. He needs to be wary of offering useless information that Sokka will somehow alchemize to actionable intelligence. Still, if Sokka says he’ll give information on the Avatar, he probably will. Zuko can be careful with his words, for once in his life, if it means getting to go home.

“Your mission,” says Sokka. “-the one your Father gave you. What is it?”

“Are you serious-?”

“ _Understanding_ ,” Sokka repeats genially. “ _Clarification_.”

Zuko rolls his eyes but answers. _Everyone_ knows this; it’s not dangerous information. “The Avatar. I need to capture him and bring him to the Fire Lord.” 

“And that was _always_ the mission?”

“Obviously,” Zuko replies, irritated. 

“Obviously," Sokka repeats. He pauses thoughtfully. "Next question. What do you think of Aang?”

Zuko blinks. That’s- unexpected? “The...Avatar?”

“ _Aang_ ,” Sokka says. 

Zuko furrows his brow. “Yes. The Avatar. What about him?”

“You mentioned that he’s a kid,” Sokka says. “Before.” 

Zuko nods. He senses that he’s on thin ice, but he’s from the equator. He doesn’t really _understand_ thin ice. “...yes?” 

Sokka pauses, then nods decisively. “Okay. Let me reframe. What happens to Aang when you capture him?”

Zuko blinks. “I...bring him to the Fire Nation.”

“Where they…?”

“...keep him secure?”

Sokka points at him. “Follow that thought. Describe _keep him secure_. Like Zhao kept Aang secure at the Pohuai Stronghold?”

“No,” Zuko denies instantly, remembering the boy chained in that large empty room, nervous and exhausted and small _. Young_. He’s the Avatar, he reminds himself fiercely. The most powerful Bender in the world. He’s not just some _child._ “We’ll hold him however is necessary,” he amends, scowling away. A few drops of rain fizzle to steam. 

Sokka raises his eyebrows. “So, to clarify, you’re _fine_ with what they did to Aang there?”

“Of course I am,” Zuko snaps, glowering. “And I wasn’t there, anyway.” 

“Right. And you’re fine with Aang being locked away like that? For life?”

Zuko glares straight ahead. “He’s an enemy of the Fire Nation.” It sounds weak even to his own ears. 

“So am I. Is that how you think enemies should be treated? How _we_ were, up in the mountain? Starved and isolated, locked up without a trial? Do you think what Yu did was okay?”

“I didn’t do that!” He snaps, eyes widening as guilt chews at his stomach. “I _wouldn’t_ do-” 

“Yu,” Sokka interrupts lightly. “The interrogator.” 

Zuko swallows, feeling foolish and miserable. “Oh.”

“You wouldn’t have what?” 

Zuko looks away. He feels as if the ice has broken somehow, and he’s swimming in cold and uncharted waters. “We wouldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t let them.” 

“Aang is a kid, Zuko,” Sokka says quietly. “Do you...trust your father with kids?” 

“ _What kind of question is that?!_ ”

“One I’m asking,” Sokka replies calmly, watching him. 

It feels like he’s being _careful,_ like he’s choosing his words the way Walrus had after a nightmare. It’s _infuriating_. “The Avatar is an enemy of the Fire Nation, standing between my Father and unified peace,” he hisses furiously. “I will stop him however I can, no matter what some _peasant_ thinks. And I’m _done_ answering questions. It’s _my_ turn.”

Sokka raises his hands, playing placating again, and rests back. “Okay, go for it. Ask away. I’m an unfurled scroll.” 

Zuko doesn’t mince words. “Where is the Avatar?”

“Aang?” Sokka shrugs. “No idea.”

“What?!”

“How should I know where he is? I’ve been in prison, remember? Aang has a short attention span and a giant flying bison. He could be _anywhere._ ” 

“But-” Zuko falters, feeling oddly betrayed. “You said you had information on him.”

“I do,” Sokka says. He begins to count off his fingers. “How he likes his tofu, what giant animals he likes to pester, how weird his super-old friends are-”

“I don’t _care_ about any of that!” Zuko snaps. “That’s just- just-”

“Information,” Sokka finishes for him. “About Aang.”

“It's _useless_!” Zuko charges, leaping to his feet. “You lied to me!”

Sokka watches him calmly. “I didn’t lie."

“You lied,” he insists, fists clenched. “You don’t know _anything_. You’re just trying to protect him. It won’t work! I’m going to catch him and I won’t let you distract me!” 

“I wasn’t-”

“I’m _done_ listening to you!” Zuko shouts, feeling foolish and furious. “You’ve done nothing but waste my time! And- and try to manipulate me! I’m not going to fall for whatever it is you’re doing, understand me? I am _loyal_ to my nation and I am going to capture the Avatar and I am _done_ with you!” 

“Fine,” Sokka accepts tiredly. He rests his head back against the moss and closes his eyes.

Zuko just _screamed_ at him- and Zuko is _Zuko-_ and Sokka had just- closed his _eyes._

“What are you doing?!” He demands furiously. 

“Resting my eyes,” Sokka says without opening them.

“Well- stop,” Zuko orders, feeling wrong-footed at the lack of caution. “What is wrong with you? I’m right here. You don’t just- close your eyes on your enemy!” 

“You do if you’ve got sleepy eyes,” Sokka counters, keeping his eyes closed but failing to hide the smirk.

“I could attack you!”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he replies, unperturbed. 

Zuko glares. As before, not being _seen_ glaring makes glaring far less rewarding. When Sokka doesn’t appear anything other than _calm_ , Zuko slides back down. 

“I’m not going to let you stop me,” he seethes. “The minute this storm is over, I’m going to find my ship _and_ the Avatar. And if you get in my way, I’ll stop you, too, understand? This little alliance is _over._ ” 

“I’ll treasure the memories,” Sokka deadpans.

Zuko crosses his arms and glares out at the rain. 

It seems about as intimidated as Sokka.

\---

When the rain finally slows, the men exit their shelter, squishing down into the mud with twin expressions of distaste. When Zuko begins marching, moist footsteps follow, but neither say a word. They may be headed in the same direction, but as far as Zuko is concerned, that's it. No more questions, no more talking, no more alliance. 

Sokka is an _enemy_ and that’s all he’s ever been. He was only interested in making Zuko appear foolish, a task at which Zuko is plenty good without help. 

The town shouldn’t be too far and, without the hefty armor, it'll be a fast walk. Zuko reminds himself of this over and over as he stalks through the mud, fuming. He’ll be rid of Sokka. He’ll get a ship, somehow, and find Uncle, somehow, and he’ll get home, _somehow._ This will all just be a frustrating memory. 

After nearly an hour of silence, they come across a small road and follow it gratefully. Even better is the sign indicating that the next town is less than two miles away. 

For one naive moment, Zuko begins to feel hopeful.

That’s probably why the Universe delivers into their path three Fire Nation soldiers, armed with swords and strong situational awareness. They freeze the moment he and Sokka come into view, taking in the dark gray under armour, the distinctive red boots and, yes, of _course_ , Zuko’s scar, which is as damning as a giant sign reading TRAITOR.

“Follow my lead,” Sokka whispers without missing a beat. He slips his arm around Zuko’s, holding him loosely. “Hello there!” He shouts towards the soldiers. “Great news! I’ve captured Prince Zuko!”

The center soldier steps forward, raising their sword aloft. “On your knees,” they order. “Both of you.”

“Now, now, fellow Fire Nation soldier,” Sokka tries. “No need for _that-_ ”

"Shut it, Water Tribe," they snap. "On your knees."

Sokka hesitates, then nods. He lets go of Zuko’s arm. "Fine." Instead of surrendering, he lunges forward to throw his boomerang. It sails over the guards and back again; every single soldier ducks. "Okay," he says, frowning. "You guys are really taking the fun out of this." 

Ignoring him, Zuko sprints towards the largest of the three, throwing up a wall of fire and then immediately regretting it. He hasn't eaten since yesterday, and _that_ was just a pocketful of jerky. He needs to get a sword and fight smart, the way Master Piandao had taught him. He evades a few swipes from the slightly smoking soldier, then sends a careful blast of fire towards the metal gauntlet of their dominant hand. The soldier drops their weapon in pained surprise; Zuko catches it before it even hits the ground. 

The soldier, facing an armed royal Firebender, flees.

Zuko stares at their fast-retreating back, mouth agape. He was _running?_

There's little time to yell anything about honor or cowardice. The second soldier rages forward with a bloodthirsty roar, slashing frantically. Zuko sidesteps the hits he can, and bats away the ones he can't. He settles into a familiar rhythm, heartbeat steady and steps smooth, and he can feel his opponent's anger grow at the display of insouciance. Swordplay is satisfying in a way Firebending never has been. Bending has always been Azula's. But this, trivial as it should be for a bender much less a Prince, is _his._ He feels light and fast on his feet, a needle instead of a battering ram, capable instead of deficient _._ When his opponent begins to falter, taking the opportunity feels as natural as breathing. Zuko makes his first attack. He hits hard at the hilt of the blade, batting the soldier's grasp loose, then twists. The sword goes sailing into the underbrush.

Zuko can't see his opponent's face through the visor, but he hears the panicked curse.

And then- yes, that's _two_ of Father's soldiers practicing dereliction of duty.

Zuko collects the second sword, then turns back to the final soldier. Surely Sokka has made quick work of-

He blinks. 

Sokka is staggering off of the road, hand clutching his side and pain smeared across his features. The third soldier follows him off of the verge, stride smooth and steady, a terrible contrast to the way Sokka’s steps falter. 

Zuko doesn't think. He just propels forward, a sword in each hand. They are not dual dao and were never meant to be used together. In this moment, however, they are twin blades, ones that easily disarm and assail the other man until he is on his knees before his Prince, helmet knocked aside and gasping for breath. He's young- almost as young as Zuko- with sweaty dark hair and merigold eyes wide as saucers. Zuko's swords cross at his throat, a hair's breadth from execution. 

He'd hurt Sokka. He was going to _kill_ Sokka.

Zuko swallows, then slams the hilt of his right blade against the boy’s head. He collapses in a loud metallic slump. Zuko bends, melting together his gauntlets to act as ersatz handcuffs, then does the same to his boots to hobble movement. It’s easy to muster the heat; rage hums under his skin like a buzzard wasp. 

When he looks up, Sokka stares back at him, swaying, hands pressed against the wound. Red is already staining his borrowed shirt a darker gray. He’s bleeding fast. 

Zuko stands. A small flame hovers in his palm and he urges it to burn hotter, even as his legs begin to tremble. 

Sokka steps back. He asks, very nearly nervously, “What are you doing?” 

“Hold still,” Zuko instructs, walking towards him. “You’re going to bleed out if you panic.”

This doesn’t seem to help. Sokka scrabbles backwards until the moment his back hits a tree. “Well, _excuse_ me for panicking, there’s a Fire Bender about to throw _fire_ at me!”

“At your _stab wound_ ,” Zuko snaps, and Sokka scoffs at _that_ , too. Zuko stalks towards him, insisting, “I’m trying to _help_!”

“ _Fire_ doesn't help,” Sokka retorts, shaky but furious. “It _destroys._ ”

Zuko hesitates. Sokka looks- _scared. Actually_ scared. Of him. “I-” He very reluctantly steps back. He should just pin Sokka in place and cauterize the wound, with or without the peasant’s permission. Sokka might even thank him later. Instead, he lets the flame die down. He tries to sound reasonable and not as impatient as he feels. “It’ll seal the wound, keep you alive until we can find a healer. I- I’m not trying to _hurt_ you.” 

Sokka stares at him, the stain growing larger beneath his fingers. He's clearly weighing his options. Zuko can't risk that. He knows how little reason there is to trust him.

“I swear,” he tries, the words coming fast as he begins to panic himself. How long until too much blood is lost? “On my honor, as son of-”

“Fine, fine, I don’t need the whole thing,” Sokka decides, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just do it.” 

Zuko needs no further encouragement. Sokka’s compliance, however, offers a chance to clean the wound before sealing it. He scurries back to the unconscious guard, hoping that- yes! A canteen. He pours the last of the water over the cut, watching as it runs pink. “I need your boomerang holster.”

Sokka hands it over warily. “Why?”

Zuko answers by shoving the leather strap into the other man’s mouth. “Bite down,” he orders. “This will hurt.” Sokka meets his eyes, then nods once. Zuko lowers his hand over the wound, pinches the skin together, and burns. 

Sokka bravely doesn’t faint. Zuko bravely waits until he’s finished.

\--

“-uko?”

Zuko’s eyes open slowly. There’s an extremely sweaty Water Tribe peasant shaking him. 

Sokka slumps, relieved. “Oh, good. I kinda thought I’d killed you. We need to go.”

Zuko blinks, sitting forward slowly. “Your side-?” 

“Doesn’t feel great,” Sokka admits, helping him up. “But I have a theory it’ll feel worse if it gets stabbed again. Can you walk?”

“Can _you_ walk?”

Sokka huffs out a tired laugh. “Okay, whoever walks best helps the other. Deal?” 

Zuko offers up a thin smirk. “Deal.” They waddle back onto the path, each of them relying on the other’s weight. It probably shouldn’t work, but because neither of them are willing to fall first, neither of them fall at all. 

\--

They must make quite the picture, Zuko thinks, as they make their way down the path. His left arm is wrapped around Sokka’s shoulders, grip tight on the other man’s bicep. Sokka mirrors the arrangement, though his hold is a little tighter. His breaths come unevenly, and his expression is tight. He doesn’t complain, but Zuko still tries to support more than weigh down. 

Despite being stabbed, Sokka seems _determined_ to talk. Zuko isn't sure whether he's trying to stay conscious or if he's just _like_ that. Evidence suggests the latter. “So,” drawls the peasant. “Two swords at once.” 

“Uh,” replies Zuko.

“Impressive,” Sokka continues through his next ragged breath. “-especially considering you don’t know a thing about swords.”

Zuko chooses a new topic. “We’re almost there. I can see a roof.”

“Good,” says Sokka. “I’d like to be under one of those.” He's quiet for a moment. Then, “Have you decided what you’re going to do when we get there?”

“I’m dropping you at a healer’s,” Zuko replies. “And then I’m finding my ship.”

“You’re just gonna go back to chasing us around? Really?"

“It’s not as if I have another option,” Zuko snaps, annoyed. “-since _you_ have no idea where he is.” 

“I mean, I don't know where Aang _is_ , but I know where he’ll _be._ ” 

Zuko stumbles to a stop, aghast. The sword he's been using as a make-shift walking stick drags a small trench through the muddy road. “What?” 

“I’m his friend,” Sokka says, stopping, too. He leans a little more on _his_ sword now, and a little less on Zuko. “And being friends with Aang is a lot like being friends with a polar dog. He might have a short attention span, but he _will_ track me down, tackle me, and, honestly, be covered in fur.” Sokka meets Zuko’s eyes, expression serious. “They’ll find me, Zuko. I know they’re looking.”

“That’s why Zhao captured you. He was going to use you as bait to draw him out.”

“And now,” Sokka says. “ -you have an opportunity to do the same thing.”

Zuko stares at him, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”

“Follow me around long enough, and you can skip trying to find Aang. He’ll find _you_.” 

That's logical, Zuko thinks, in the instant before he realizes it _isn't._ He shakes his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would you give me a plan to catch him?”

“I’ve been giving you plans all week. It’s a hobby.”

“I mean it,” Zuko insists. “I don’t understand.”

Sokka considers him. “You want the Avatar, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately.

“Then does it really matter _why_ I’m leading you straight to him?”

“Yes!” Zuko exclaims. “Because there _is_ a why, and I don’t know what the why is! People don’t just help! And they definitely don’t help their enemy capture their friend! There’s a reason you want me to follow you-” He breaks off with a sudden burst of clarity. “You want to capture me yourself,” he accuses furiously.

“ _Capture you_ ,” Sokka scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Zuko snarls, “I will _not_ be held _ransom_ by a trio of _children_.”

“Why would we even ransom a banished prince?” Sokka demands, exasperated. “If they banished you, why would they pay me to bring you back?”

“He _wants_ me back!” 

“ _He doesn’t_!” Sokka snaps. “How do you not get that?!”

They stare at each other, heaving heavy breaths, both furious and yet unable to let go. Every fiber of Zuko wants to reel away, to stomp and shout and throw fire he shouldn’t be throwing, but Sokka is too pale and sweating and his grip is white-knuckled on the hilt of his support sword; Zuko doubts he could stand on his own. 

So he settles for volume. “You don’t know anything!”

“Zuko-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuko insists angrily. “So stop acting like you do!” 

Sokka scoffs. “Believe me, the second I get you and Katara in the same room, I will. But for now, I’m what you’ve got.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!"

“It means I don’t know what I’m doing here!” Sokka shouts. “It means I’m not the one who gives speeches about hope and love and how people shouldn’t banish twelve-year-olds for being bratty!”

“I was thirteen!” Zuko roars.

“ _That’s not a good argument!_ ” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Zuko demands. “I have my mission and I’m going to complete it. I’m going back, and no one- not you, not Zhao, not the Avatar- is going to stop me. You understand? I'm _going_ to do this!”

“Look-” Sokka sighs and glances down, fury draining into something tired. “Look. If you’re that determined, the why doesn’t matter. All that matters is that if you come with me, you _will_ find the Avatar.”

Zuko continues to glare but reluctantly wonders, “...and then?”

“Then maybe you can convince him to join the Fire Nation,” Sokka declares, rolling his eyes. “Make him realize the error of his ways, show him the true path to peace. He can be annoying, but he’s not a bad kid. Maybe if you really have a good argument and take the time to give it, he'll listen.”

“You’re saying he might be willing to switch sides,” he clarifies stiltedly. 

_Do you think we could have been friends?_

“I’m saying I think it’s worth trying, instead of just fighting each other over and over again. I can tell you Aang responds to talking more than he does to firebolts.” He looks back at Zuko pointedly. “You’d have to listen, too. That’s part of talking.” 

Zuko shifts. He could bring Father a powerful ally rather than an enemy in chains. A _child_ in chains. Having the Avatar on their side would end the war- it would change everything- it... “It wouldn't work.” 

“Probably not,” Sokka admits dejectedly. “It’s a really stupid plan.” 

Zuko frowns down at his boots. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? And if he can’t convince him, he’ll just capture him. Back to square one. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try it.”

Sokka smiles weakly. “Thought you might.” 

They resume their awkward stride. As the town slowly rises up to meet them, Zuko wonders, hesitatingly, almost afraid the offer will go away if he questions it: “Why are you doing this? You hate the Fire Nation. You think we’re _weird_ and _evil_.”

“You’re definitely weird,” Sokka assures confidently. “But I’m having some serious doubts about evil.” 

Zuko blinks, surprised. Those guards weren't exactly an example of the Fire Nation at its finest. “The prison changed your mind?”

Sokka shrugs as best he can with Zuko's arm tight around his shoulders. "What can I say? At the risk of sounding like my sister, the past few days have given me some hope." 

Zuko doesn't reply the way _his_ sister would. 

\--

It isn't hard to find a healer. The townspeople take one look at the blood-covered soldiers using swords and each other to stay upright and voluntarily offer the information. Passionately. 

The Healing House smells like lavender and greenery when they finally enter. While it's a small building, it feels cozy rather than cramped. There are a few beds near the back of the room, surrounded by potted plants and wide windows, but the majority of the space is occupied by shelves filled with books and bottles. An old man dozes on the floor, an open scroll spilling over his lap and a long-gone-cold cup of tea left abandoned on the nearest windowsill. He jerks awake when they barrel through the door, quickly scrambling up to lead them to a bed, bushy brows high but otherwise the picture of professional composure. 

"There you go," he says as he gently guides Sokka down. "Sit on down. What's the problem here?"

Zuko wants to yell because the problem seems pretty clear, but he resists the urge. It's never a good idea to yell at healers. "He's been stabbed."

The man lifts Sokka's shirt carefully, whistling low. "And burned?"

"To manage blood loss," Zuko explains, cheeks burning. Had that been the wrong move? Had he acted too impulsi-

"Impressive," remarks the Healer, wandering off towards the plants. "Very skillfully done. I'll still have to take a look to make sure it didn't nick anything important, of course, and keep it from getting infected. Name's Jin."

Sokka replies first, breathless and clearly in pain and still _so obnoxious_. "I'm Lee." 

Zuko glares, but swallows the expression down as the healer wanders his way back with a small kit and a freshly plucked twig. 

"Chew the leaves," he advises. He glances at Zuko, gaze lingering predictably on the scar. "And you are?"

Zuko freezes. Over Jin's shoulder, Sokka chews with a self-satisfied grin. "Iroh," he says finally. 

"Good to meet you both. You're in a pretty sorry state, if you don't mind my saying. They treating you boys that bad?"

"We got separated from our troop," Sokka explains, mouth full of tacky green paste. 

"Well, that's alright. They pass through here all the time." The words are only casually bitter. "Stay the night, they'll find you in the morning." 

"Cool," says Sokka, meeting Zuko's concerned expression with a concerned expression of his own. "Cool cool cool. That's _great_ news."  
  
  


\---

In the end, the sword had missed anything vital and Jin only has to give Sokka some stitches. He works quickly with hands as steady as stone, and keeps idle conversation flowing throughout the entire procedure. When he finishes, he leans back in his chair with a tired little huff. 

"All done. You should eat something, though. I'm hungry just looking at you."

"We will," Sokka promises, stomach rumbling loudly to support his words. "But we need to send a message. Is there any way to do that?"

"They'll be by tomorrow," Jin reminds him. "You can have beds for the night and update them then. You boys need rest." 

"It's urgent," Sokka insists.

"I don't know what to tell you," Jin replies, standing. "Not like we have any hawks around here. Let me see if I've got anything to eat. That’s what you _really_ need.” He walks back to the plants and shelves, rifling through for something edible. 

Zuko watches him go. "I don't trust him," he whispers.

Sokka frowns. "Why?"

"Why would he help us? He's Earth Nation." Zuko shakes his head. "That kindly old man act won't work on me. He's up to something."

"All he’s done is helped," Sokka retorts. "He stitched me up, he gave us water, he gave me _gross leaves_. He’s getting us food _right now._ ” 

“Healers know poisons,” Zuko insists.

Sokka rolls his eyes. “If he wanted us dead, he would have attacked by now. Or just _waited-_ we aren't exactly in great shape. I’m telling you, all we have to worry about right now is contacting Aang."

"If he kills us," Zuko hisses. "-we'll never be able to contact the Avatar!"

Jin drops his bulb of garlic.

Zuko might have hissed too loudly.

“The Avatar?” Jin repeats, squinting between them in the uncomfortable silence. “You know the Avatar?”

“No,” says Zuko, just as Sokka says,

“Maybe.” 

“Well,” he says. “Which is it?”

The teens glance at each other. 

Sokka shrugs. “Mine. It’s a maybe. Why?”

“The Avatar came through here,” Jin explains as he walks towards them, garlic left forgotten on the floor. "A few days ago." He sits back in his chair and considers them idly, fingers laced across his belly. “He was looking for someone.” 

“He already came this way?" Sokka slumps. "Of course he did. Did he say where he was headed? Was there a girl with him? Blue dress, hair loopies, tendency to splash?”

Zuko elbows him on his uninjured side, annoyed. He was giving too much information away for no discernible reason. While that would be great for Zuko as a Fire Nation Prince eager for information, it’s less helpful as his temporary accomplice uninterested in being recaptured. 

“He was just looking for the _one_ someone,” comments Jin as his eyes flicker between the two guests. 

“Maybe it got lonely out there,” Sokka replies lightly. "-just being _one_ someone." 

“Hm. Lee your real name?”

Sokka regards him thoughtfully. “No.”

Zuko hits him again and wonders if maybe he should be directing these attacks to the injured side. It might offer more results.

“Then your name is really…?”

“Sokka.”

“Okay, Sokka,” says Jin, hand dipping into his pocket. “Thought it might be you. Well, here you go.” He removes a small hunk of wood carved to vaguely resemble...Zuko isn’t sure. A weird rock? “He and that sister of yours had a whole bag of ‘em, freshly carved.” He frowns disapprovingly. “They were awfully worried.” 

Sokka takes the item. His eyes narrow as he inspects it, then widen in understanding. 

“What is it?” Zuko asks, eyes flickering between the healer and the peasant. 

“A whistle,” Sokka breathes, grinning. He presses his lips around the narrow end of the so-called whistle and blows. 

Nothing happens.

For some reason, almost definitely blood loss, Sokka whoops with glee. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A commenter on the last chapter rightly observed that Sokka is playing a high-Charisma game of D&D. See above: A critical fail.


	7. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments!! Reading them has got me jazzed for some future plot points. 
> 
> A special thanks to IsolatedPhenomenon who included the phrase "force-fed friendship" in their comment, which is now a tag because that is basically an alternate title.

After Sokka chews some more brightly colored leaves and Zuko finishes his second cup of water, Jin offers them two beds near the back of the Healing House. He then insists on procuring them a warm meal and bustles off. Zuko watches him go distrustfully then tests the nearest window. It opens with the futile reluctance of an irregularly opened window, and Zuko slumps back, relieved. If Jin comes back with anything more menacing than subpar congee, they have a way out. 

“I get Zhao wants to capture you,” Sokka remarks, flat on his back one bed over, abdomen wrapped in a fresh white bandage. “But that doesn’t mean _everyone_ wants to capture you. There’s no need to be _this_ level of paranoid.”

“I’m not being paranoid,” Zuko retorts. “I’m being cautious.”

Sokka lolls his head back to get a better view. “Oh? When did that start?”

Zuko ignores the comment. “Your whistle doesn’t make any sound.”

“You can’t hear it? That must mean the spirits don’t favor you.” Whatever look Zuko gives is enough to make Sokka cackle. “Kidding, kidding! If we’re going to be traveling together, you really need to work on appreciating my frankly _amazing_ sense of humor.”

“I don’t have time for humor,” Zuko replies, crossing his arms. “And I won’t be traveling with you long. I’ll either convince the Avatar to join me or I’ll capture him.”

“You’re a very honest person,” Sokka remarks, moving to grab his boomerang. 

“It’s not like you don’t know that that’s what I’m planning,” Zuko responds plainly.

The Water Tribesman doesn’t seem to hear him, too busy trying to balance the weapon on his nose. When it clatters to the ground, just out of comfortable reach, he stares at it forlornly.

Zuko rolls his eyes and dutifully hands it over.

Sokka goes back to the balancing act, like a tiger-seal at the traveling circus. “You know,” he says, “getting stabbed really stops feeling so bad after a while.” The boomerang falls down again and his eyes widen in deluded realization. “Wait, am I _great_ at being stabbed? Am I _invulnerable_?”

“No,” Zuko says, bending to hand it back over. “You’re just drugged.”

“ _Drugged?_ ”

“The medicine he gave you,” Zuko reminds him. “It has a numbing effect for pain, but it also makes you feel-”

“Amazing? " Sokka offers, thrusting up one wobbly arm. "Incredible? Kinda _floppy?_ ”

“-out of sorts,” Zuko finishes politely. 

“Out of sorts,” Sokka repeats, tasting the phrase. “Outofsorts. I feel pretty _in_ sorts, actually.” He tilts his head back to better regard the banished Prince, and doesn’t seem to notice when his boomerang loses its balance again. His arm flaps back down to hang limp over the side of the bed. “How do you feel?” 

Zuko frowns. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you have some leaves, too? You had a _hard_ day.”

“I’m fine,” Zuko assures stiffly.

“You _always_ say that. C’mon, have some freaky lettuce.” 

“You were _stabbed_ ,” Zuko stresses.

“And you saved my life,” Sokka replies, grinning wide. “‘Cause you _like_ me.”

Zuko huffs. “I don’t like you.”

“We’re at love already?” Sokka draws his hand to his chest and affects an overly dramatic expression of surprise. “ _Wow._ That means _so_ mu-”

“I don’t _anything_ you!” Zuko snaps, irritated. “I'm just using you to get to the Avatar, so stop talking.” 

Sokka does. For almost ten seconds. “Zuko. Hey, Zuko? _Zuko._ ”

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling every ounce of exhaustion he’d worked through these last few days. “You need to sleep. Shut up and sleep.”

“Your bedside manner needs work,” Sokka criticizes.

Zuko ignores him and lies back down. Sokka is alive. There's a plan to find the Avatar. Food is on its way. He can rest, can't he? Just for a moment? He closes his eyes and lets Sokka’s rambling wash over him. He'll have one chance when they track down the Avatar. _One_ chance to explain why the Airbender should join forces with the same Nation that had ended his people. _One chance_ \- 

He jerks forward. “Sokka.”

“-and he’d _just_ said double pay-- what?” 

“Do you really think the Avatar would switch sides?”

Sokka snorts. " _Aang?"_ He laughs boisterously and then assures, too seriously, “ _Maybe._ ”

Zuko considers. The Water Tribesman may be drugged, but he’s still _smart._ “How would you convince him?”

“Me?”

“You’re _good_ with people,” Zuko tries to explain. It feels uncomfortable. “I- I don’t-”

Sokka sits up, only wincing a little as he does so. “...have the social skills of your new and immensely charismatic Water Tribe big brother?”

“You’re _not_ my- that doesn't even- I’m _older_ than you!” Zuko bites his tongue on further arguments. Drugged, he reminds himself. “How would you do it, then?" He demands. 

Sokka makes a big show of looking thoughtful. “ _Well._ What do _you_ like about the Fire Nation?”

Zuko frowns. “It’s my home.”

“That’s not a _reason_ , is it? That’s just-” his hand flops around dismissively, “- _geography._ Are you saying that if you were born in the Water Tribe you wouldn’t have a _single_ reason to support the Fire Nation? Because if _that’s_ the case-”

“Of course I would,” Zuko interrupts quickly. 

“Then tell me _why_ Aang should join you.”

“The Fire Nation is strong,” Zuko asserts. “We’re going to win the war anyway, so he should just join us now.”

“Yes,” Sokka agrees blandly. “ _That_ will appeal to the pacifist monk.”

Zuko acknowledges the point and glances away. He thinks back to his tutelage. “We’re- we’re _generous._ We help the places we colonize.”

“By burning down the towns that were already there?”

“By providing food and protection and education,” Zuko counters tightly. 

“ _Re-_ education, maybe.”

Zuko scowls. “Are you trying to help or not?”

Sokka groans loudly. “How am I supposed to think when I’m so _hungry_?”

“Jin is getting food," Zuko tells him, crossing his arms and ignoring his own hunger. "Just be patient.”

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday and I’ve got half the blood I had this morning,” Sokka retorts. “I get to be impatient. It’s the _one_ good part of this.” 

“You have plenty of blood,” Zuko dismisses, refusing to acknowledge the twinge of concern. “Just wait.”

Sokka squints over Zuko’s shoulder. “Pass me that garlic.”

Zuko follows his gaze to the abandoned garlic bulb. He turns back to Sokka, unimpressed. “You’re not eating the floor garlic.”

“Why?”

“It’s _floor_ garlic, and not a real meal, and Jin will be back soon with _actual_ food, and I have to sleep three feet from you!” 

Sokka shrugs. “So?”

“So you’d smell like garlic all night!” Zuko exclaims, annoyed. 

“ _So?_ Garlic smells _great._ Gran Gran swears by it. Makes food taste better, heals bunions, keeps dangerous spirits at bay-”

“It would keep _anyone_ at bay if you ate an entire _bulb_ of garlic!” Zuko half groans and half shouts and wholeheartedly wants to be done talking about garlic. “Are you going to help or not?”

“What, I’m supposed to brainstorm on how the Fire Nation is great? It’s not like I’ve ever even _been_ there. I know _two_ things about the Fire Nation: they _love_ destroying my cool snow walls, they’ve been attacking since before I was born, and they captured every Bender we had.” He frowns. “Three things. That’s _three_ things. _All_ bad.” 

“We didn't capture _all_ of your benders,” Zuko retorts, annoyed by the hyperbole. “I’ve fought your sister, remember?”

Sokka goes quiet. He doesn’t even mention eating holistic remedies.

Zuko frowns, deterred by the odd silence. “...Sokka?” 

“They didn’t take her because our mother stopped them,” Sokka tells him quietly. “She lied. She said _she_ was the last Bender.”

Zuko hesitates, caught off guard by the change in Sokka’s demeanor. “If this works out,” he begins unsurely, “ I can- I can requisition the names of those captured from your tribe. I can help you find your Mo-”

“They killed her.” 

Zuko’s heart stutters. “What?”

“The soldiers,” Sokka elaborates, slumping over his knees. His eyes are glazed, and he’s sweaty, and Zuko suddenly feels guilty. Would Sokka be telling him any of this if he weren’t drugged? Before he can say a word, however, Sokka continues, “They weren’t taking prisoners that day. Mom lied and told Katara to run...she was little, then. By the time Dad and I got back…” He shakes his head and looks away. 

Zuko swallows thickly. He doesn’t even know how to _reply_ to that. His soldiers had killed a mother defending her daughter. _His_ soldiers had done that, and then he’d crashed into the snowbanks, demanding more from this village that had already lost so much. 

He’s never seen Sokka look this hurt, and he’d literally seen him _stabbed._

“...I’m sorry.”

Sokka smiles weakly, but doesn’t meet his eyes. He replies, almost nonchalantly, “Not your fault. It’s war.” 

Zuko frowns down at his hands. “That isn’t war,” he counters bitterly. “That’s-” _evil._ “Wrong.”

“War makes it easy to do wrong things,” Sokka replies quietly. He squints, obviously trying to focus more on his words than his foggy mind would like. “You knowing that those things are happening, wanting to stop them- that’s... _important_.” 

“When I get back,” Zuko promises, “I’ll make sure my Father knows. He- he _can’t_ know these things are happening. He wouldn’t allow it.”

“I thought he knew everything,” Sokka comments evenly.

Zuko doesn’t answer. He’s _thinking._ This is just further proof, isn’t it? That the war needs to end as quickly as possible? So that people like Sokka, people like _Zuko_ , don’t need to grow up without their mother. But that thread runs parallel with another. Sokka and his sister lost their mother and their heritage. The Avatar’s entire people were systematically killed. And- and of course Fire Lord Sozin had his reasons for doing so, and Sokka’s mother- she _must_ have been an oversight, a mistake, or maybe it was an accident- but how do you convince people like Sokka that your nation isn’t evil? Fire Nation soldiers may have done those things, but those actions don’t represent everything that the Fire Nation _is._ They can’t.

“This isn’t going to work,” he realizes. 

“...talking to your father?”

“Talking to the _Avatar_ ,” Zuko corrects, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How am I supposed to convince him that we’re not evil when- when that’s all he knows? The bad stuff? There _are_ bad people, but we’re not all like that.” He glances at Sokka unsurely, guilt squirming in his stomach. “We aren’t.” 

“It only takes a little bad and a lot of apathy,” the other man says quietly. “If you don’t stand against it, you’re letting it spread. You’re _helping_ it spread. The Fire Nation has been doing stuff like this for a hundred years, Zuko. Do you think _my_ Mom is the only one the Fire Nation has killed?” 

Zuko squeezes his fists tight until he can feel the little crescent moons dig into his palm. “Sokka-” He hesitates, then continues, “why are you helping me find the Avatar? After-” The words die on his tongue. He’s not even sure what they would have been. 

“This war has taken enough good people,” Sokka answers, looking at him strangely. “I don’t think it should get to take any more.” 

Zuko thinks of his mother, thinks of Lu Ten, thinks of the 41st division. “Do you think he could be convinced? Really?” 

Sokka tries to shrug nonchalantly and almost falls off of the bed in the process. His tone, unlike his balance, is even. “I mean, what else can we do but try?” 

“If my sister were here, she’d just capture _you_ ,” Zuko replies honestly. “Like Zhao did. Except you’re wounded and drugged, so it would be easier. And then…” He thinks. “Wait for the Avatar? And then capture _him_ by threatening _you._ ” 

“Okay,” Sokka says. “That’s one option.” 

Before he can say anything else, the door opens and Jin strides in carrying two bowls that smell heavenly _._ It’s a simple but hearty soup, with warm mushroom flavoured broth, thick egg noodles, and a healthy sampling of pork, tofu and chicken. The spice is mild, but every few bites bring a juicy crunch of chili-encrusted ginger. Zuko sips slowly, letting the flavor settle on his tongue before swallowing, and has only finished half of the bowl when his stomach feels full enough to burst. He sets it aside, a little nauseous and _beyond_ exhausted. 

Sokka, impossibly, moves to finish Zuko’s bowl after finishing his own.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” Jin orders sternly.

Sokka gives a thumbs up to acknowledge the words and continues slurping. 

\----

Jin leaves them for the night after checking Sokka’s stitches and, after a telling wince, providing more medicine. Sokka relaxes quickly after the second dose, boneless and floppy again. Zuko tenses, expecting more of their interrupted conversation, but the Water Tribesman seems to have little interest in resuming such serious talk.

“Did you know,” he says, “that your hair looks ridiculous?”

Zuko’s cheeks burn. “What?”

“It’s like-” Sokka runs his fingers through his own incredibly messy hair. “Normally you look like an egg with a tail, right? And now you look like- like-”

Zuko waits. He’d be annoyed, usually, but a little teasing at his expense is better than their earlier topic. He doesn’t mind listening to Sokka ramble about nonsense right now.

“-like a _person_.”

Zuko crosses his arms. “I _am_ a person.”

“A _hairy_ person,” Sokka tries to explain. “With a lot more hair in exactly _one_ part of your hair. Like a little hair mountain. A hair _hill._ ” 

Zuko scowls, then glances around the room for a mirror. While he doesn’t necessarily trust Sokka’s assessment, he would _rather_ look presentable before finding the Avatar. His eyes light up as he spots a large reflective cooking pan on one of the shelves. 

Sokka was...not exaggerating.

“See?”

“I haven’t been able to shave in weeks,” Zuko defends, blushing. He has about an inch of hair across his scalp, except for a strange added mane where his phoenix plume had been. The scar is more noticeable, somehow. He looks ridiculous, and he _refuses_ to begin peace talks looking this way. “I need a ribbon and a razor.” 

“You’re not gonna try and give yourself a haircut right _now_?”

“Of course I am,” Zuko confirms snappishly, glaring around the room for something better suited to the task than his knife.

“You don’t even have a real _mirror_.” 

“I have you. You can tell me how it looks.”

Sokka stares at him, then sighs heavily. “Zuko, Zuko, _Zuko._ ”

Zuko scowls as he digs through a kit of tools. “What.” 

“You should not trust me with that.” 

Zuko scoffs. “Even _you_ couldn’t mess this up. Just tell me if it’s even, or if I miss a spot.” 

"Zuko.” Sokka tents his fingers. “I tell you this in the pursuit of honesty and peace: do not give me this responsibility.” 

Zuko hesitates, a sharp-edged razor clutched in his right hand. “...why?”

The peasant sighs. “This might ruin everything, but it might also be worth it. Sit and trust in your wise older brother.” 

Zuko doesn’t argue with the nonsensical rambling. He just sits and begins shaving.

\---

“Good morni- great Shu’s top-knot,” Jin breathes, horrified. “ _What did you do to your head?!_ ” 

When Zuko sees the back of his head in an actual mirror, Sokka cackles.

When Jin hesitantly offers to shave it even, clearly disturbed by the steaming skin, Zuko just snatches the mirror and does it himself. 

Sokka continues snickering, so he’s likely missed a patch or two, but no one actually _says_ anything.

Zuko ties his phoenix plume high and tries very hard to feel like he knows what he's doing. 

\----

They spend most of their day on the roof of the Healing House, hiding and whistling.

The complete absence of any actual whistling means that Zuko can meditate unbothered, something he’s sorely needed since their initial escape. Now that he and Sokka have an understanding, he feels more or less comfortable closing his eyes and relaxing into his meditative pose. Sokka may be an enemy, _technically_ , but he’s not the sort of enemy who would randomly stab Zuko in the back. Zuko is at least eighty percent confident in this. 

That would be far too simple and reasonable a plan.

“Are you done sitting perfectly still yet?”

Zuko doesn’t react. 

“Zuko, you’re not in the _spirit world._ I know you can hear me.”

His left eyebrow twitches.

“I can _sense_ you getting annoyed. I can actually _see_ you wanting to throw fireballs at me.” The peasant clicks his tongue. “That doesn’t seem very meditative.”

Zuko finally pries open his eyes and glares. “What do you _want!_?”

“I’m bored,” Sokka explains, looking the part. “And I’ve been blowing on this whistle for hours. It’s your turn.” 

“It’s not even noon,” Zuko counters reasonably, “and it’s _your_ whistle.”

“You’re in the gaang now. It’s _our_ whistle.”

“I,” Zuko insists firmly, “am _meditating_.” 

“Meditating is all about breathing. Consider this next level meditation: _breathing into a_ _whistle._ ”

Zuko glares, then pointedly closes his eyes and smooths his breaths. 

“If I weren’t the one vouching for you,” Sokka grumbles, “I’d kick you out. I ask you, _where_ is the team spirit?”

“Probably with your sister,” Zuko replies flatly, “so get back to whistling.” 

\----

“Get low.”

“We’re on the roof, Zuko. They can’t see us.”

“Do you want to have to escape? Again?! Get _down._ ”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but obediently lies flat. They stay like that long after they hear the percussive metal boots of the Fire Nation soldiers subside. 

When Sokka tries whistling, Zuko steals the instrument just in case it suddenly starts working.

\----

“Okay, now you do one.”

“No.”

“Come _on._ I give you permission!”

“No.”

“O _kay_ , but that means I get to do one about-”

“Fine. Fine!” Zuko squints, thinking it through this time. “What did the glacier...say...to the _ocean_.”

“Tell me,” requests Sokka in between bursts of silent whistles, “what _did_ the glacier say to the ocean?”

“Ice to sea you.”

“S-E-A?”

“...yes.”

“You’re a prodigy, Zuko.” He sniffs dramatically. “I am _so_ proud.” 

Zuko rolls his eyes and hopes it distracts from the smile he couldn’t quite swallow down. 

\----

“It’s late,” Jin says. “You boys can try again tomorrow.”

Sokka climbs down the ladder slowly but falls asleep in seconds.

Zuko lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. 

He thinks about Sokka for a little while. About how he should hate Zuko, but doesn’t seem to. About the weird way he laughs at Zuko but not _at_ Zuko, exactly. About how he seems to inexplicably trust Zuko, and how he in turn almost trusts Sokka _back_ , despite everything. About Sokka’s mother. _His_ mother. 

He avoids thinking of Sokka as he was in the forest, frightened and blood-soaked. He avoids thinking of the way his heart had skipped a beat- or seven- at the sight of his wounded enemy, or the ugly way he’d felt when Sokka had reared back from his attempts to help. The very memory of it makes him feel small and clumsy and awkward. It reminds him, strangely, of a lifetime ago, rescuing turtle crabs from hawks in the rock pools on Ember Island. Realizing that without the turtle crab, the hawk would starve. Realizing he’d have to choose a side. 

He only thinks about the Avatar a little, because thinking too hard about how unprepared he is for that conversation makes him feel too anxious to sleep, and he’s _so_ tired. 

So, mostly, he thinks about Uncle. What he would think if he knew what Zuko was planning. What he would _do_ if he were here. Would he just sit around, eating dumplings, chatting idly, watching a Water Tribe peasant go red in the face from whistling?

Everyone else would be disappointed in him, he thinks, but Uncle would probably enjoy it. 

He rolls onto his side and tries to ignore Sokka’s snoring. 

\----

"Do you boys want tea while you're up there?" Jin asks. "It's a little chilly this morning."

Sokka waits for his cup of jasmine. Zuko just climbs the ladder.

\----

"...is that a dumpling in your pocket or are you just, um. Huh. No idea how to finish that. _Why_ do you have a dumpling in your pocket, Zuko?"

"In case I get hungry later," he explains defensively, shoving the food out of view. 

"But now it's covered in your gross pocket dirt!"

"My pockets aren't dirty!"

"That dumpling seasoned in lint and sand begs to differ...!" 

Zuko _wants_ to save food, just in case something happens, but he still wastes it. He still throws the dumpling directly at the peasant's face.

And the peasant _catches it with his teeth._ And proceeds to chew. Loudly.

“What is the matter with you!?" 

Sokka just chews louder. 

\---- 

There’s too much shouting for the villagers to even _pretend_ they don’t know they’re there.

They call up _good morning_ s, and _have a nice night_ s, and the occasional warnings of Fire Nation scouts.

Someone tosses a pastry once. When Zuko warns him about poison, Sokka just assures him he doesn't have to have any if he doesn't want any.

When Sokka hasn't keeled over thirty minutes later, Zuko quietly takes the other half.

\----

On the third day, Jin leaves before dawn to drop off medical supplies to a nearby town.

“In case we’re gone when you come back,” Sokka says, “thank you. For everything.” 

“Show your appreciation by avoiding the sword next time,” Jin replies grumpily as he clambers onto his ostrich horse. He glances at Zuko. “Try not to let him get stabbed again, eh, Iroh?” The creature pecks once at Zuko's pocket, then sets a quick pace towards the outskirts of town. They pause just long enough for Jin to shout over his shoulder, "And good luck fixing that whistle!" 

And then they're gone.

\----

“...and that if he just swears loyalty to my father, the war would be over by the end of summer.”

Sokka whistles once, then confirms, “And that’s your pitch?”

“We all want this war to end,” Zuko stresses. “This is the fastest way. With the Avatar on our side, we would be the most powerful force in the world. No one would dare stand against us.” He winces. “I shouldn’t say it like that.”

“Developing self-awareness is a crucial step in not sounding like a monologuing bad guy from an even worse play,” Sokka says proudly. “I’m _very_ impressed.” 

\-----

“Wait- is that…?” 

Sokka scrambles down the ladder before Zuko even comprehends what he’s seeing. When he finally registers what that distant floating shape means, he ignores the rungs and slides straight down, the soles of his borrowed boots smacking into the hard earth. As Sokka rushes forward, chasing the shadow of the beast as it descends, Zuko lingers by the healing house, heart pounding fast.

He watches as the bison sails down into the center of town, the Avatar perched on the massive horned head, the Water Tribe girl already sliding down the incredibly furry tail. She bolts towards Sokka, arms outstretched, as he frantically tries to wave her down. It’s in vain. She embraces him, and Zuko can see even from here the way Sokka winces at the too-tight contact on his fresh wound. Despite the grimace, he hugs back, just as tight. 

Then the Avatar tackles them with a childish burst of laughter and all three collapse to the ground, grinning like morons. The bison lumbers over to lap a giant tongue across Sokka, mindless of his dramatic cries of disgust. Despite being covered in spit and sporting an involuntary pompadour, Sokka still pats the beast’s giant nose fondly.

The Water Tribesman then transitions into a cross-legged position, chatting energetically as his sister and the Avatar nod along, bright-eyed. After a moment, he pauses to review his surroundings. When he finds Zuko, his smile is tenser than it had been, and Zuko feels inexplicably disheartened by the change. 

The Avatar and Sokka’s sister turn, following his gaze. 

Zuko can tell the moment they recognize him in the gathering crowd. They stiffen simultaneously, eyes going wide. The girl reaches for her brother while the Avatar leaps to his feet, standing just in front of his friends with an expression that _dares_ Zuko to do something.

So he does.

He marches towards them, chin tapped up defiantly and hands fists at his side. He isn’t sure what he’s going to say yet, and he isn’t sure what he’s going to _do_ when whatever he says fails. He doubts the Avatar will be persuaded, and he doubts he could beat him in a fight at the moment. But he’s still going to _try_. 

_One_ victory and he’d have _everything._

“Guys,” says Sokka, when he’s come close enough to hear. “You remember Zuko.”

“Avatar,” Zuko greets, nodding. His gaze slides to the girl. “Hello.”

Her eyes flash as she stands, shifting in front of Sokka just as the Avatar had. “What are you doing here?!”

Zuko’s nostrils flare, but he stays calm. He’s being _persuasive._ “I’m here to talk.” 

“Talk?” She repeats furiously. “You _kidnapped_ my brother! Do you think we care what you have to say?”

“I didn’t-!” Zuko interrupts himself and tries again, calmer. “I didn’t kidnap your brother.”

“Oh,” she scoffs, “that was a _different_ Fire Nation creep after Aang?”

“Yes, actually,” says Sokka, still on the ground. “Can someone help me up before things get all _bend-_ y?” 

The girl’s brows furrow even as she moves to assist him. “Are you hurt?”

“Only a little stabbed,” Sokka assures, wincing as she helps him to his feet.

“ _Stabbed_ _?”_ She repeats, horrified. She twists towards Zuko. “Why is he _stabbed?"_

“I didn’t do it!” Zuko tells her impatiently. “I can _bend._ If I wanted to hurt him, I’d just burn him!” He stutters, because in the name of honesty, “I mean, I _did_ burn him, but it was for his own good.”

“ _What?!”_

Sokka digs his fingers into the girl’s forearm, restraining her from attacking through sheer pity. Even then, it’s a close thing. “Katara, _wait_. I know how that sounds, but that’s just because he’s bad at talking.”

“I am _not_ bad at talking!” Zuko snaps, threadbare patience wearing thinner. 

“You are,” Sokka says, “hands _down_ the worst talker I’ve ever met. It’s honestly impressive.”

The Avatar still hasn’t said a word. He’s relaxed his stance and appears less like a combatant and more like an audience member at the Ember Island Theater who’d walked into the play late. His eyes flicker from speaker to speaker. 

“Do you need a healer?” 

“I’ve seen a healer,” Sokka assures her. “I’m okay-”

“Okay!”

“-I just need to _rest._ ” 

“You’ve been _stabbed._ ”

“ _Barely._ ” He nods at Zuko. “Zuko got me out of there and brought me to a healer.”

That brings the girl up short. She glances between them. “Why would he do that?”

“He was stabbed,” Zuko says, crossing his arms. “Where was I _supposed_ to bring him?” 

“Zuko didn’t kidnap me,” Sokka explains. “Zhao did. When I was arrested, the soldiers realized I looked a lot like one of my wanted posters. I said I _wasn’t_ that handsome fugitive; they called my bluff and brought me to high-security mountain jail.”

“Mountain jail?” The Avatar repeats dubiously.

“Not as cool as it sounds,” Sokka assures.

“...and you _escaped?”_ His sister asks hesitantly.

Sokka nods. “With help from-”

“No way! You broke Sokka out of jail, too?!” The Avatar interrupts, staring at Zuko as if he’s grown a second head. A second head that he is _thrilled_ to see.

“ _Too?"_ The girl squeaks.

The Avatar brushes the back of his neck. “Do you remember that one time you and Sokka got really sick and I had to go get frogs for you to suck and Zhao captured me-”

“This is not an exclusive club,” Sokka mutters.

“-and someone rescued me?”

The girl waits for the punchline.

The Avatar grins.

“That’s not-” Zuko hesitates. “Can we not talk about that? Too loudly?” He needs to capitalize on this goodwill, but he _doesn’t_ need this entire crowd of people to know he really _was_ the Blue Spirit. If this doesn’t work, he needs reasonable doubt. 

The Avatar seems genuinely puzzled. “Why?”

“He’s concerned that his many many _innumerable_ treasons might make people think he’s some kind of _traitor_ ,” Sokka explains. 

“I am _not_ a-!”

“Let me handle this, Zuko,” Sokka interrupts, raising a hand. “How about this: you go pet Appa, I’ll explain our plan. It’s probably better if they hear it from me, anyway.”

Zuko stares. There was an option where this whole thing didn’t rely on his ability to explain himself? 

...he can pet the bison?

“Fine,” he grumbles, stalking forward. When he glances over his shoulder, they’re all three staring after him: Sokka with a somewhat strained grin and a thumbs up, the girl with obvious distrust, and the Avatar...thoughtfully. Zuko looks away and keeps walking.

The bison has wandered slightly off towards the edge of town, where the grass is just beginning to fade yellow. The bison chomps contentedly. The bison...is _large_.

He’d known that, logically, because the creature had flown over his ship a half dozen times- had nearly _destroyed_ his ship. 

But up close? 

Big. Very big. 

And so _soft-_ looking. He steps forward hesitantly, keeping an eye on the animal’s face in case they panic at his approach. He’s shot fire in their general direction, after all.

“Hi,” he greets under his breath. What had Sokka called them? “ _Appa?”_

The creature watches him placidly, mid-bite, weeds hanging over their blunt, square teeth. 

“...I’m going to pet you.” 

A low rumble, like a hungry stomach.

Taking this as permission, Zuko takes the plunge and presses his left hand into the fur. It’s coarser than he expected- and a little greasy- but there’s _so much._ The fur is nearly to his elbow before he reaches actual _bison._ The creature _is_ large, but not as big as they seem. They’re mostly just...fluff.

He stands perfectly still, resisting the urge to tip forward and sink face-first into the fur. 

After a few moments, he glances over his shoulder again. The three are in a tight huddle. The Avatar has his back turned, but Zuko can see both Sokka and his sister. Sokka’s expression is uncharacteristically serious. His sister’s face is drawn tight, lips pursed as if she’s tasted something sour. She reaches a hand up, fingers lingering for a moment in the hollow of her throat, as she responds to something Sokka has said. 

Sokka _might_ be telling them they should hear Zuko out. He might _also_ be saying any number of other things. Zuko inches closer towards them, scratching behind Appa’s ear as an alibi in case he’s accused of eavesdropping. He still can’t hear _them_ , but Appa makes a happy rumbly noise.

The girl frowns. Sokka says something Zuko _still_ can’t hear and the expression of concern crumbles into amused annoyance. She swats her brother lightly and he reacts with exaggerated offense.

Zuko looks away. 

It’s funny the moments he misses Azula. They’d never been like that. There’s no reason an interaction like that should make him think of her. He probably shouldn’t even miss her, considering everything. But it does and he does. The chasm between here and home suddenly seems insurmountable. 

He focuses on the fur, fingers carefully combing the snarls loose and smoothing the flyaways.

If this works, he’ll be home soon. He’ll see Azula, and Father, and Uncle- Mai and Ty Lee and all the old servants- and he’d come home a _hero._ They’d be _happy_ to see him-

“Zuko!” 

He turns to see Sokka waving him over. Behind him, the girl and the Avatar continue speaking. While the girl maintains a serious expression, the Avatar is grinning wide in between bites of a pastry. Where had he even _gotten_ that?

Zuko stops a foot away, just as the girl begins to tense. “So,” she says with forced cheer, hands clasped over one another at her waist. “You’re Prince Zuko.”

He regards her evenly. “And you’re the watertribe peasant.” 

“Yes,” she says, forced cheer a lot more forced. “That is... _what they call me_.”

“Technically there are _two_ watertribe peasants here,” Sokka notes. “So probably better to use names, like a human would.” He points at the girl: “Katara.” He points at the Avatar: “Aang.” 

Zuko shifts. What is he supposed to say to that? “...I’m Prince Zuko.” 

Everyone stares at him.

While the girl- _Katara-_ chokes on a laugh and Sokka looks vaguely redeemed, the Avatar steps forward. “It’s good to _formally_ meet you, Prince Zuko,” he says, bowing respectfully. “I look forward to talking to you about how we can end this war.”

From an old monk, this would probably sound impressive. From a child with spun sugar stuck to his cheek, less so. Zuko still bows back.

“For now,” says Sokka as he leads towards Appa, “I think we should probably get going. Soldiers come through here _all_ the time, and while the majority of Fire Nation citizens are surprisingly gullible, the ones that aren’t get stabby. Everyone onboard!” 

Zuko follows him slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. Should he really be trusting them? Sokka _must_ be planning something- he always is. And Zuko is about to _willingly_ hop on a huge flying bison, one that will carry him thousands of feet high in the company of only his enemies. 

This is _stupid_ , isn’t it?

If Azula were here, she would already be fighting.

If Uncle were here…

Sokka leans over the edge of the saddle and stretches down a hand. “On my honor,” he says, “as the son of Lady Kya and Chief Hakoda, I am only trying to help you, Zuko.” 

Zuko hesitates one moment longer, then nods, grabbing Sokka’s hand. As he’s hoisted onto the bison’s back, the breeze picks up behind him, smelling like distant ash and fresh rain. 

He can do this. 

\----

“So,” says the Avatar, twisting around the moment Zuko is settled, “Sokka says you’re going to teach me firebending!” 

Oh, Zuko realizes fifty feet too high to change his mind. This is a _mistake_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deleted line: Have some leaves. They’ll heal you! They’re the heal-iest!
> 
> I got a lot of people asking about the state of Zuko’s hair, so made sure to include that all-important update. For visualization purposes, I’d say picture the most awkward looking mullet you can: very short and business-like in the front, with a party in the back that abides by social distancing regulations. Post haircut, there are one or two patches that he somehow just doesn’t notice, which means every time he turns his head, Sokka is in a silent (and sometimes not-so-silent) battle against straight-up guffawing. He is, after all, trying to secure world peace, here.


	8. The Plan Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out what was missing from this fic: more talking.

Zuko is sure that there was a shatterpoint moment in his life, some choice he made or some destined mission he failed, that caused everything to fall apart. While the war meeting was bad, it wasn’t the beginning. Maybe it was that he failed his kata the morning they found out about Lu Ten. Maybe it was that he showed Azula the trick to her first Firebending lesson and she was suddenly amazing. Maybe it was just that he was born.

The point is- he’d done something to deserve this.

He wishes he could take it back. 

The Avatar is grinning.

“...what?”

“Firebending,” repeats the Greatest Enemy of the Fire Nation, leaping to his feet. He flings a few gusts of wind out at the surrounding clouds, and they cannonball through the mist. “Fire balls! Fire sword! Fire jets! You could show me how to _fly_ with fire!”

“You _already_ fly with air,” Katara points out reasonably.

“Yeah,” agrees the Avatar, “ _air_. I wanna do it with fire!”

“I’m not teaching you Firebending,” Zuko snaps. He scowls over his shoulder at the Water Tribe Peasant. The male Water Tribe Peasant. The- _Sokka_. “I don’t care what he told you. I’m here to teach you about the Fire Nation and this war.”

“Aang understands this war fine,” Katara asserts sharply, “and he understands the _Fire Nation_.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Zuko counters, glaring back.

Sokka leans forward, snuffing the argument before it can begin. “Look. Zuko. Firebending is a huge part of the Fire Nation, isn’t it?”

Zuko glares, because _obviously_. “So?”

“So if you’re trying to help Aang understand the Fire Nation, shouldn’t he understand Firebending? If it’s anything like the Water Tribe and _our_ bending, there’s a rich tapestry of heritage and culture involved. To us, the water is _sacred_.”

“You make me wash your dirty socks with my _sacred water_ ,” Katara comments acidically, looking as unimpressed as Zuko feels.

“Shh,” Sokka hushes, “I’m securing world peace.” He turns back to Zuko. “You told me you have an ‘inner fire’ and you can feel the sun rising. That that’s Acne watching over you-”

“Agni,” Zuko and the Avatar correct simultaneously.

“My point is,” Sokka continues steadfastly, “Firebending is a big part of who you are, and what the Fire Nation is. I’d think that’s important for the Avatar to understand. But if you disagree...” He trails off meaningfully.

Everyone stares at Zuko.

Even the Avatar, who should probably be looking where the gigantic flying bison is going.

“Fine,” he grinds out finally. “But,” he continues, just as Sokka and the Avatar begin to cheer, “I’m only showing him the basics. I’m not going to teach him how to fight just so he can turn around and kill me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” the Avatar insists, looking painfully sincere.

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Katara agrees snappishly. Her eyes flicker to Sokka, and she softens the slightest bit. “We may not agree on everything, Zuko, but you’re safe here.”

Zuko shifts uneasily and in so doing jostles the formless bundle of fur beside the food supplies. The fur- which is apparently a small bony screeching creature previously sleeping and now extremely _alarmed_ \- instantly leaps at Zuko’s face.

Zuko yelps in surprise, scrambling backwards and nearly off of the bison.

“Momo!” Katara chides, and _this is all she does to help._

It’s still more than the Avatar or Sokka do. They just laugh as he’s mauled to death.

...or rather as the creature paws at his phoenix plume in between high-pitched chirps.

This probably isn’t a coordinated attack.

Zuko lifts a hand towards where the creature- the _Momo_ \- is perched on top of his head. When he finds fur, he pets once, and the animal trills happily. They continue to box his hair.

“Momo?” He repeats.

Zuko vaguely remembers a winged lemur during their fights, and feels foolish for his overreaction. He’d visited all of the known Air Temples during his search for the Avatar, and had come upon dozens of these animals. They mostly just ate fruit and watched as he grew frustrated and kicked ancient ruins. They were harmless, and he’d _screamed_.

“I think he likes you,” the Avatar observes gleefully from Appa’s head.

“I don’t care if he likes me!” He snaps, scowling.

He sends a general glare around the bison saddle, daring anyone to doubt him.

“...You can take him off your head,” Katara offers after a moment. “He won’t bite you or anything.”

Zuko hesitates, then reaches for the creature.

“You don’t have to,” Sokka tells him. “It can get cold up here. We’ll all understand if you want a toasty lemur hat.”

Zuko stops reaching up and crosses his arms instead. “Whatever.”

Katara stares at him.

“He should know I’m not a threat!” He shouts at her.

Momo screeches at the noise and leaps. Zuko watches with a glower as Sokka wrestles with the screaming beast pulling on his hair.

“Yes, yes! I’m back! _Okay!_ I missed you, too!”

Katara and the Avatar laugh at the undignified display as Zuko takes the momentary distraction to fix his hair. He should have stolen Jin’s mirror.

“Avatar,” he says, eager to reclaim at least a vague sense of sanity or control, “I am here to-”

“Not now,” Sokka interrupts, grabbing a peach as Momo tugs at his ear lobe.

“Not now?” Zuko repeats furiously. “Then _when?”_

The Water Tribesman throws the fruit onto the saddle, and the lemur lets out a delighted squeal before diving after it. Sokka smooths out the wrinkles and fur on his shirt as he replies, “Remember when I said I don’t want you to die for no reason? That still stands.” He gestures towards their immediate surroundings. That is, endless sky. “We are thousands of feet high, and if the conversation goes sour, the only way off the bison is down.”

Katara frowns. “You’re not suggesting Aang would actually try to hurt him?”

Sokka scoffs. “Aang? He wouldn’t knock a _bird_ off Appa.”

“It’s true!” The Avatar adds supportively. “I watched that turkey duck eat all the fish you had!”

“Yes,” Sokka agrees brightly. “You were very unhelpful!“ He turns back to Katara. “I’m _saying_ if Zuko decides he wants off, he’ll jump first and realize gravity still exists second.”

“I’m not stupid!” Zuko snarls.

“You’re not,” Sokka agrees with surprising ease. “But you’re a little hot-blooded.” He pauses. “Hot-blooded, Zuko.”

Zuko scowls and hunches, refusing to acknowledge the pun olive branch. “I wouldn’t just jump off.”

“That _is_ good to hear-”

“I would never abandon my mission to capture the Avatar.”

Sokka droops.

“Sokka is right,” Katara decides, turning to Zuko. “Not about you jumping off Appa,” she amends quickly at his expression. “I mean about waiting. If you and Aang are going to have peace talks, they should be held on safe, neutral territory. And we need ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Zuko repeats dubiously.

“...Yes." She glances at her brother.

“Yes,” he echoes. “Ground rules. Like. If peace talks don’t end in immediate peace, let’s not jump straight to kidnapping Aang.”

The Avatar perks. “I like that rule!”

Zuko scowls. “I’m not going to waste my time. If the Avatar doesn’t see reason, I’m going to capture him.”

The three exchange a look Zuko can’t _possibly_ decipher.

“We appreciate you being so honest,” Katara says finally, “but how can you expect Aang to agree to this if you don’t give him a fair chance?”

Zuko groans. “What are you talking about? I’m trying to talk first! I haven’t tried to capture him all morning! I’m not capturing him right _now_.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” Sokka hastens to say. “Really! I haven’t seen you light anything on fire!”

Zuko doesn't mention that he’s still too exhausted to actually fight. The days of rest have helped, but he still feels _weak_. He glares instead of replying and no one seems surprised.

Katara considers. “How about this? You give Aang a week.”

Both Zuko and Sokka startle. “A week?”

“If he hasn’t changed his mind by then,” she says, her gaze sliding from Zuko to Sokka, ‘“we accept that it’s over.”

“That’s not fair,” Sokka says immediately.

It’s more fair than any deal Zuko has ever heard of in his life. “After the week, I can try to capture him?”

“No, no, we’re not doing a week,” Sokka denies, shaking his head. “That’s stupid. He needs more time.”

“It’s logical,” she counters. “We were supposed to be in the North Pole in a week, Sokka. Aang _needs_ a Waterbending Master- and so do I. And you can’t actually think, after _everything_ , this is worth-” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. “Look. Aang and I agreed to give this a try, and I think a week is more than fair.”

"I agree,” Zuko affirms before Sokka can argue. “There’s no sense in dragging this out if it doesn’t work.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Katara says almost pleasantly

Sokka groans. “Really great that you guys agree on something, but does it have to be the opposite of what I want?” He sighs. “Fine. But today doesn’t count.”

“It’s barely noon!”

“Exactly! I will not let you rob us of breakfast peace talks!”

“Breakfast peace talks _are_ the most important peace talks of the day,” offers the Avatar.

Katara rolls her eyes. “Fine. Starting tomorrow, _one week.”_

**DAY 0**

Most of the day is spent flying, and most of the conversation is provided by Sokka and the Avatar. Katara spends the majority of her time staring at Zuko, only looking away if he starts to smoke. If her white-knuckled fists are any indication, she doesn’t trust Zuko any more than he trusts her. It’s a relief knowing Sokka has someone like her around to stem some of his stupider impulses.

The Avatar rattles on about what Sokka missed during his absence, mostly boring conversations with peasants and accidental heroics. He tries to engage Zuko several times, but gets the message pretty quickly when his only answers are stony looks and stilted monosyllables. If they can’t actually talk, Zuko refuses to sit around nattering. For one, it’s pointless. For another, he’s always been bad at it and would probably manage to say something stupid enough to make even a pacifist throw him overboard.

The afternoon passes mostly in awkward silences, uncomfortable looks, and way too much of Sokka talking.

It’s basically the last week of Zuko’s life, just a thousand feet higher.

\----

“-weird cave cells, so I didn’t even know it _was_ Zuko-”

“What!” The Avatar interrupts the harrowing and highly-edited tale of their imprisonment and turns to Zuko, delighted. “I didn’t know who you were during _our_ jailbreak, either!” He cocks his head. “Is hiding that you’re a good guy, like, your _thing?”_

“Yes,” says Sokka, just as Zuko snaps,

“No!”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Katara says, sitting forward. “You want us to trust Zuko because he acted nice while you two were _lying to each other?”_

“They say we show our truest selves behind a mask,” chirps the Avatar.

“Exactly!” Sokka exclaims. “Top-shelf Avatar wisdom right there! Also, A), it doesn’t really count as lying when he does it, B) he _didn’t_ act nice, and C) we didn’t lie, we just omitted one or two things.”

Katara turns to Zuko, unconvinced. “So you really didn’t think, even a little bit, about whether the imprisoned Water Tribe boy next door named Sokka was _Sokka_?’

Sokka scoffs. “Well, we didn’t give our real _names_.”

“That’s lying!”

“It’s adjusting syllables!”

“That’s _lying_!”

“You used fake names?” The Avatar glances at Zuko curiously. “What did you say your name was?”

“Lee,” Zuko answers flatly.

He deflates, clearly unimpressed. “...that’s a nice name.”

Sokka preens. “My name was Sir Walrus-Rabbit the Sixth.”

 _“Sir Walrus-Hare the Third,”_ Zuko corrects, scowling.

Katara chokes on a laugh. “And you believed that?”

“No!” Zuko growls. “I knew he was only giving a fake name because I had!”

“You said your name was Lee,” points out the Avatar. “How’d he know _that_ was fake?”

“Are you not listening!?” Sokka demands. “This boy may bend fire, but he cannot bend the truth!”

\----

Eventually, Zuko settles into his own skin. He rests on the edge of the saddle, watching the world below slowly drift by. Appa’s legs kick in a gentle rhythm, fluffy white fur melding with the clouds.

This might be the most amazing and peaceful experience of his life, even looking over his shoulder every few seconds to confirm no one is about to push.

Despite his para- despite his _caution_ , he still doesn’t notice Sokka approaching until he’s _right there_.

“Neat, isn’t it?”

Zuko jolts, then forces himself to relax. It’s only Sokka. Sokka could have killed him a dozen times over and hadn’t. Sokka was _Walrus_. “I’ve never been this high,” he admits, letting his gaze fall back down. From up here, the towering trees look like blades of grass.

“I’ve been higher,” Sokka reveals conversationally, sitting beside him to appreciate the view.

Despite himself, Zuko is curious. “Really? When?’

“Jin’s office.”

Zuko tries to turn the bubble of laughter into a derisive scoff, but Sokka looks too proud to have been fooled.

\----

They still haven’t come upon another town when the shadows below begin to grow long. The others talk about possible landing areas while Zuko remains quiet. He’s spent most of the last few hours- in the spare moments he had to himself without the Avatar or Sokka interrupting- considering how he would approach the peace talks.

He wonders what Sokka has already told them.

He wonders why the Avatar keeps smiling at him instead of glaring.

He wonders if there’s a way to make Katara _stop_ glaring.

Zuko doesn’t have a plan, but it’s a familiar problem. Sitting on a flying bison surrounded by enemies, miles from home, friends, or family, it’s almost nice that _something_ hasn’t changed.

\----

They finally land in a small forest clearing. The Avatar hops off while they’re still at a dizzying height and spins his way to the dirt with a delighted cheer. The moment Zuko has solid ground beneath his feet, Sokka loops his arm around him and declares, “We’re gonna go get firewood!”

Katara watches them go with a furrowed brow, but doesn’t outright veto the idea.

“How are you doing?” Sokka asks the moment they’re out of earshot.

“What? I’m fine.” Zuko frowns. “Why are you asking that? I didn’t even get hurt.”

“No, but you _are_ in a new social situation, which I’m guessing is worse for you than getting stabbed.”

Zuko scowls, but can’t disagree, even as he wonders what ulterior motive Sokka has for pretending to care. He kicks a rock as he walks and it ricochets off the bark of an old oak. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this.”

“Because you can,” he replies cheerily as he bends to collect some sticks. “Just talk to him.” He considers Zuko’s expression. “What?”

“This is politics.” Sokka raises an eyebrow and Zuko lets the floodgates of frustration open. “I’m bad at politics! I always have been! I’ve had _classes_ on diplomacy and politics, and I still don’t get it! People never say what they mean, and they always have ulterior motives, and I always manage to make a fool of myself!” His volume dips as self-loathing gnaws at his stomach. “This is too important for me to screw it up. I shouldn’t even _be_ here-”

“You’re not going to screw anything up, Zuko,” Sokka interrupts firmly. “All you’re doing is talking. Even if the outcome isn’t exactly what you’re hoping it will be, understanding another person’s perspective is never a bad thing.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Remember Kyoshi Island? You lit it on fire?”

Zuko crosses his arms guiltily. “Rings a bell.”

“When I was there, I assumed I knew better than their warriors. They beat me up. A lot.”

“That doesn’t sound like talking.”

“Eh, I earned it. Trust me, if I thought beating you up would help, I would. The point is, they took me out of my comfort zone and made me realize there was stuff outside of that comfort zone worth knowing. Also really pretty girls with swords.”

“...is this still about me?”

“You being here means you’re going to have a perspective on the Avatar no other Fire Nation soldier has,” Sokka insists. “So talk. Learn. Besides, Katara and Aang are almost _too_ sincere. They’ll say what they mean. And they _want_ to like you. Exploit that!”

Zuko scoffs. “I don’t think your sister wants to like me. She _hates_ me.”

“You did kidnap her,” Sokka points out, “with pirates.”

Zuko rips a dying branch from its tree, furious with himself and the world and _pirates_. “Exactly!”

“You could try apologizing.”

“She wouldn’t buy it,” Zuko dismisses, “and I’m not sorry. I’d do it again if I thought it would work.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t tell her that part.” Sokka considers. “Just treat her with respect. Don’t call her a peasant, or a traitor, or really any of your favorite words. Treat her the way you’d treat yourse- the way you’d treat another royal.”

Zuko thinks this over. “You _are_ the children of a Chief. I know the tribe was pathetic, but-”

“Oh, and don’t forget to _not_ call her tribe pathetic.”

Zuko winces. “I- not pathetic. Small. _Coz-”_

“You had classes on diplomacy, you say?”

\----

When they get back to the campsite, the Avatar and Katara are talking. They look up in unison as the two teens tromp back into sight. The Avatar smiles.

“Thanks for helping Sokka collect firewood,” he says genially.

Zuko glances at Sokka.

 _You’re welcome_ , he mouths.

Zuko drops the wood onto the ground. “I’m not here for manual labor,” he declares. “I’m here to end the war. We need to begin the peace talks.”

Sokka sighs way too heavily for it to be sincere. Zuko suspects it’s sincere anyway.

“Okay!” Says the Avatar. “Um, you go first.”

Zuko blinks. “You-” He coughs into his hand. “You should join the Fire Nation.”

“Okay!” Says the Avatar just as cheerily, and for a moment Zuko thinks _it was that easy?_ Then, “Why?”

“Because,” Zuko begins, shoulders squared, “we’re a strong nation doing what’s best for the world. If you join us, we can do that together.” He swallows. “And if you join us, you’ll have Fire Lord Ozai’s ear. He’d...consider your concerns. Regarding.”

Everyone is staring at him.

“Um. Your concerns.”

“You’re right, Sokka,” says Katara coldly. “He _is_ bad at lying.” She turns to the Avatar. “The Fire Lord isn’t interested in hearing your opinions, Aang. If you went, he’d just capture you, just like Zhao did and just like Zuko _tried_ to do.”

“I _succeeded!”_ Zuko snaps. “He went back on his deal!”

“And now you want to go back on yours?” She challenges, glaring. “I’m not letting you capture Aang by lying to him about peace!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re either lying to Aang or you’re lying to yourself. The Fire Nation is evil, Zuko- the things they’ve done to Aang, to us- the things you _personally_ have done to us! Why should we believe you’ve changed?!”

“I haven’t!” He shouts.

“Then why should we listen?!”

“Because your stupid brother told you to!”

“Don’t call him stupid!”

“Guys!” Sokka is suddenly between them, and Zuko realizes both he and Katara have slipped into fighting stances. His heart is still pounding furiously. He’d almost ruined things completely. On day _zero_. “That’s it for the peace talks tonight. I’m very impressed. Really peaceful.” He turns to Zuko. “Set up the fire, will ya?”

Zuko scowls but does so, scooping up the tinder and arranging it just so before urging the wood to catch. He keeps his good ear perked as Sokka walks to his sister’s side. “You don’t have to trust him yet,” he tells her quietly. “Just trust me.”

It’s the _yet_ that keeps Zuko company as he lies awake hours later, refusing to sleep so close to enemies that might just slip out of his grasp if he gives them the chance. It’s the _yet_ that makes him wonder if maybe Sokka doesn’t have some ulterior motive. If he just…

….trusts Zuko?

It doesn’t make any sense but, then, neither does Sokka.

**DAY 1**

  
When Zuko feels the sun beginning to rise, he marches over to the Avatar’s bedroll and orders, “Get up.”

The Avatar makes a small, muffled noise that roughly translates to _no_.

“I said get up,” Zuko insists, scowling.

The Avatar squints awake. “...Zuko?” He rubs at his eyes sleepily as he sits forward. “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

Have _none_ of them ever heard of dawn? “It’s the morning,” Zuko corrects. “You’re a Firebender. You wake with the sun.”

“It’s hottest at noon,” the Avatar points out. “Shouldn’t I wake up then instead?”

Zuko glares, unimpressed.

Unfortunately, the Avatar takes this as permission to curl back up into a ball. Zuko fumes and resists the urge to kick him in the ribs. “Wake up, Avatar!”

“Aang,” groans Sokka. “Just do what he says. _Quietly_. Some of us aren’t Firebenders and want to _sleep_.”

The Avatar reluctantly drags himself up out of the blankets, shivering in the early morning chill. “I’m just saying,” he mutters, “the sun is up _all_ day.”

Zuko ignores him and leads to the center of the clearing. “Sit down.”

The Avatar plops down obediently. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now what?”

“Breathe,” Zuko orders, sitting opposite him.

He groans. “You woke me up just to breathe? I could’ve done that in my sleep!”

“Firebending is about breath control,” Zuko tells him, echoing Uncle. “So sit up straight and breathe. Feel the sun.”

“...and then I’ll get to throw fireballs?”

“And then you’ll be tan,” Sokka corrects from twenty feet away. “Seriously, guys, _whisper_.”

“Ignore him,” Zuko orders flatly.

_“Hey!”_

“Just breathe.”

The Avatar nods and smooths his breaths, eyes closing as he focuses on the feeling of the rising sun on his skin.

Zuko relaxes into his own meditative pose, reluctantly impressed at the Avatar’s show of discipline.

It takes him thirty minutes to realize the kid is just asleep.

\----

“Feet further apart. Squat lower. Chin up.”

“How much of this is real?” Sokka wonders from the sidelines, munching on something distractingly crunchy. “And how much of this is you getting back at him for denting your ship?”

The Avatar obediently squats lower even as he shifts his feet apart. “Like this?”

“Chin up,” Zuko repeats firmly. “Feel the sun on your forehead.”

The Avatar does so. “I feel it,” he says. “ _Now_ do I throw fireballs?”

“No,” Zuko denies. “Now you breathe.”

Sokka laughs so hard he chokes on his snack. Katara hits his back three times before it dislodges.

The Avatar is too distracted by his friend’s inability to breathe to practice breathing himself.

Zuko would like to nap.

\----

“Where to next?” Katara asks, peering over Sokka’s shoulders.

“There are a bunch of colonies nearby we can visit to restock,” he replies, poring over the map, “but I’d rather get a little further before we stop anywhere. Less chance we’ll be recognized.”

Zuko frowns. The territory Sokka is considering is incredibly red, and while he knows his Father will understand once he brings home the Avatar, he would rather not disobey him needlessly. He hasn’t set foot on Fire Nation soil-- not as _himself_ \-- since he was banished. “We should stick to the Earth Kingdom,” he says. They both glance up at him and he adds, defensively, “Fewer chances to run into Fire Nation soldiers.”

Sokka considers him, then nods. “Okay,” he says, “we can do that.” His finger traces over the map, finding a mountain range in the far North. “The old Northern Air Temple,” he observes, tapping the inked image. “I’d say that’s a pretty good spot to train and lay low. We could get there in a couple of days.”

Zuko shakes his head. “It’s occupied.”

Katara frowns. “By the Fire Nation?”

“No,” he replies. “Just people. They glide around, but they’re not actually Airbenders. Trust me.”

Sokka squints. “...did you try to capture a bunch of random Earth Kingdom citizens?”

 _Yes_. “It’s too busy there,” he insists, “but there are other mountains.”

Sokka accepts this. “That’s only a day or two from the North Pole,” he notes, glancing at his sister. "We could probably get a third of the way there by tonight." 

Katara nods her agreement. She turns to the Avatar who is amusing himself by Airbending berries in circles around Momo’s head. The lemur seems delighted and frustrated. Zuko is _only_ frustrated. The Avatar was _supposed_ to be focused on his breathing exercises. “Aang! We’re heading out!”

“Great!” He shouts, then leaps the thirty feet onto Appa’s saddle, the back of his shirt flapping as he descends. He turns to them expectantly. “Where are we going?”

\----

“-our colonists introduce new agricultural techniques-”

Katara is glaring at him over the Avatar’s shoulder.

“-as well as new technologies like _steam_ -”

More glaring.

“- _and_ Earth Kingdom towns benefit from our superior education system.”

If she were a Firebender, he’d be on fire.

“But we understand they have their own cultures, and we’re mindful of that. Having the Avatar on our side would help to smooth these tensions.”

He’d practiced this speech in the woods for _ten minutes_ before delivering it, not to mention for _hours_ in his head on Appa's saddle, and he refuses to be distracted by one incredibly angry peasant girl.

Said incredibly angry peasant girl sits forward. “So you’d never, _I don’t know_ , capture a bunch of Earthbenders and put them in an ocean prison miles from their homes and families?”

“If you’re referring to the prison escape you orchestrated-”

“Don’t be so judge-y,” Sokka chastises, “you do that _all_ the time.”

“-those were Fire Nation enemies who fought against our troops. We were only trying to help. They forced violence.”

“It sure is easy to force violence out of the Fire Nation,” Katara remarks contemptuously.

“We don’t want to hurt anyone,” Zuko insists, “but the Fire Lord understands that a little sacrifice is sometimes necessary for the greater good.”

Katara scoffs, clearly disgusted. Even Sokka is frowning. Only the Avatar watches without any outward display of bitterness or resentment. 

Zuko resumes his speech steadfastly, strolling back and forth in front of his audience. “We would also use our economic advantages to assist poverty-stricken Earth-”

“I can’t even listen to this anymore,” Katara snaps, leaping to her feet. “How dare you rob the culture of these communities and call it goodwill! I don't care _how_ you frame it. What you're describing is _horrible_ _!”_

"I am _describing_ a way for the stagnant, stubborn Earth Kingdom to progress! Why shouldn't we try to help? The Fire Nation is thriving!" 

"What it _is_ is completely evil!" 

“There _is_ good in the Fire Nation,” says the Avatar, apparently having deemed the conversation buck-hogwild enough to require balancing.

“Yeah, _right,_ ” she mutters dismissively.

“It’s true,” he insists, hopping up onto his feet so that he can address them both. “A hundred years ago, I used to go to the Fire Lily Festival every summer! They had all these amazing foods and games. My friends and I won first place in the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet! It sounds intimidating, but mostly they just threw fireballs at your feet while you ran. I won a wooden jellyfish-duck!”

Zuko scowls. “The Fire Nation has more to offer than childish games and toys.”

“Oh.” The Avatar considers him. “Do they still have dance parties?”

“You’re not taking this seriously!” Zuko snaps.

“Of course he is,” Katara counters before the Avatar can say a word. “Aang is dedicated to restoring balance. Maybe he’s having trouble seeing it from your perspective because your perspective is _wrong_.”

Sokka winces. “Okay, let’s not-”

“My _perspective_ is that the Fire Nation is winning this war, and every day that the Avatar fights his losing battle, innocent people who don’t need to die _do!”_ Zuko shouts back. “If you can’t see that, then I don’t need a week.” He shifts into his fighting stance, left hand raised in a tight fist.

“Good,” she replies, the cap popping off of her waterskin as a stream of water leaps to attention between her hands. “Neither do I.”

“My Father and Agni himself have willed me to capture the Avatar,” he tells her intimidatingly, refusing to allow a single tremble in his voice. “If defeating some peasant is the only way to fulfill this destiny, I will do my duty.”

The Avatar frowns, eyebrows furrowed. He looks more puzzled than threatened, but at least he isn’t talking about dance parties.

Katara, on the other hand, just narrows her eyes. “Try it,” she suggests icily.

Zuko’s fist comes aflame and he refuses to wince. He isn’t weak. He can do this.

“Guys,” Sokka groans, awkwardly pulling himself to his feet, “can we not immediately start fighting? It’s day _one_.”

“He started it,” Katara asserts. “I’m just going to finish it.”

Zuko sneers. “Have you learned nothing from our previous fights? By threatening me-”

“-you invite your own doom!” The Avatar shouts.

Zuko freezes.

Katara doesn’t stop facing Zuko, but her gaze slides quizzically to her companion. “...what?”

“That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” The Avatar is grinning and bouncing up and down in place and he is back to obnoxiously gleeful and this is _bad_ -

“...no,” Zuko says.

“Yes, it was!" He begins to pace. "What you said before _sounded_ familiar, but I didn’t recognize it at first. That was the Dragon Empress, right? Except she says-” He affects a dramatic accent that doesn’t sound anything like a Fire Nation accent, not even a _colonial_ one, “'My Mother and Agni himself have willed me to prove my devotion. If following him into the ashes is the only way to fulfill this destiny, I will do my duty!' And what you just said- _that was the final battle!_ The Dark Water spirit!” He grins smugly. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No,” Zuko says again. He has no other words.

“I knew it!” The Avatar hops, and the air carries him at least a dozen feet high before he twirls back down. “That’s from Love Amongst the Dragons!”

“It isn’t,” Zuko assures, glancing from him to Sokka to Katara. “I don’t- I’ve never even heard of that. I don’t know what that is.”

“That was Kuzon’s favorite play!” The Avatar continues happily. “He made me watch it, like, a hundred times!”

“I don’t know it,” Zuko stresses.

“It was terrible!”

“Wait-”

“We used to make fun of it the whole time!”

“-what-?”

“It was so over-the-top! Everyone kept monologuing about dreams and flowers! They never even showed Noren in his dragon form!”

“That was a purposeful choice!” Zuko snaps. “It’s supposed to feel surreal, _and his dragon form was a metaphor!”_ His chest heaves and his skin is steaming and he suddenly realizes Katara and Sokka are staring at him, and he’s so stupid, _what is wrong with him?_

“...you were doing a monologue?” Katara clarifies. At some point, she has let the water soak into the dirt beneath her boots. “While you were attacking me?”

“I-” Zuko swallows. “Technically, it was a soliloquy.”

“Okay,” says Sokka, clapping once. He doesn’t even look surprised. “Are we all done trying to kill each other for the night?”

Katara nods numbly.

Zuko is too embarrassed to argue, so he just crosses his arms and looks anywhere else.

“Great! Let’s get some sleep, and we can all murder some more in the morning. I’m gonna set up the tent.”

He promptly begins wrestling with fabric and tentpoles. Though the inanimate objects should be at a steep disadvantage, the battle seems one sided in their favor. Zuko turns away from the almost impressive incompetence-

...and the Avatar is right there.

“A metaphor?” He repeats curiously, as if there hadn’t been any threatening or impending violence. “For what?”

Zuko scowls. “I don’t know, who cares?”

“C’mon,” insists the Avatar, sitting and patting the dirt beside him. “If it’s a good play, I should know, right? That’s Fire Nation culture right there!”

Zuko wants to explain. Zuko _could_ explain, for hours. He hadn’t gotten it at first either- metaphors are weird- and his mother had spent hours of her time explaining everything. She was always so happy when she talked about that play. Happier than he’d ever seen her.

Zuko had kept asking questions just to see her smile as she answered.

“...I’m going to find some more firewood,” he mutters to no one in particular, and stalks into the woods.

\-----

When he gets back, carrying an armful of spindly twigs he’d quickly collected after ranting for a half hour at a large oak tree, they’re still there. Zuko had half expected them to leave. He swallows a relieved sigh. The idea that his short temper could ruin everything _again_ made him want to scream. This is, of course, counter productive.

He dumps the sticks in front of Sokka and sits on a patch of dirt on the opposite side of the fire, as far as he can get from everyone else while still near to the flames.

He breathes, and the fire breathes with him.

“Wow,” says the Avatar, perking. “How do you do that?”

Zuko is about to snap, because he’d already _told_ him breathing was important, but reminds himself how far snapping had gotten him last time. “Get in your stance,” he says instead.

The Avatar hops immediately into place. His feet are a little too far apart and his face screwed up into a grimace better suited to Zhao, but it’s passable.

“Breathe in through your nose,” Zuko orders, “and out through your mouth. _Deeply_.” The Avatar does, way too loudly. “Calmer,” Zuko urges. “It’s not about power. It’s breathing. Just breathe.”

The Avatar relaxes slowly until he resembles himself more than a constipated porcupine-badger.

“Keep breathing,” Zuko continues, wondering how to put into words something so innate. “And...reach out?”

He glances around for inspiration and finds Katara. She’s sitting stiffly, but she doesn’t look as angry as she had before. She almost looks curious.

“You’re learning Waterbending, right? Think about the push and pull of the waves.” He hesitates. “You can feel that, can’t you?”

The Avatar nods.

“Try sensing that in the fire, then. There's a tide to it, too- the way the flame washes up like waves on a beach. Fire and water are the same, just,” Zuko struggles, “different.”

It’s not very good advice, a butchering of a concept Uncle had once tried and failed to explain, but the Avatar seems calmer in his next breath.

The fire is no longer attuned to Zuko’s breaths, or its own. It follows every exhale of the Avatar, growing larger and larger as he discovers his control.

“I feel it!” He crows delightedly, breaking from his stance.

The fire licks higher.

“Good. Now let go.” Zuko frowns when he doesn’t. “Right now, Avatar, let go.”

“I can feel it,” repeats the Avatar, ignoring the order. He reaches out, grin broadening as the fire reaches back towards him in a spiraling flurry of flame, and it’s already spreading, spanning out-

Zuko slashes his arm through the flames, snuffing the entire campfire. “What is wrong with you?!” He demands furiously.

The Avatar scurries back at his tone, clearly startled and inching towards scared. “W-what?”

“I told you to stop!”

“Back off!” Katara shouts, suddenly between him and the Avatar, her arms outstretched. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“You don’t just play with fire!” Zuko snaps at her, his earlier irritation returning tenfold. “And if you keep protecting him from the lessons he should be learning, he’ll never be the Avatar you want him to be!”

“He already is!” She retorts furiously. She stalks forward and he stays rigidly in place, even when her face is only inches away. “You may be a Prince, but that doesn’t mean you get to bully Aang. If you’re so good at Firebending, you should be able to teach him without yelling at him!”

That doesn’t make any sense, and Zuko is about to _scream_ that fact when there's suddenly another Water Tribe peasant standing in his way. “Hey, we’re done with the shout-y portion of the evening, remember? Check the itinerary.” He glances between them. “Just- _calm down_. Zuko, light the campfire.”

“What?!”

“Light the campfire,” Sokka repeats firmly.

Zuko wants to continue arguing, because arguing makes _sense_ , _fighting_ makes sense, lazing around a campfire with his enemies _doesn’t_ , but he refuses to be the reason this plan fails.

He marches back to the extinguished firepit and sets it ablaze, letting his frustration turn the tinder to ash.

He scowls as he watches them talk, their backs turned and their voices hushed. Sokka and Katara are silent but animated, and more than one finger points angrily in his direction. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the conversation ends. The Avatar approaches slowly. Zuko tenses, ready for anger and excuses and-

“I’m sorry,” says the Avatar.

Zuko blinks. “What?”

“You agreed to be my Firebending Master,” continues the boy contritely, “and I didn’t give you the respect you deserve. I was excited, but I should have listened when you told me to stop. I’m sorry.” He looks up, reviewing Zuko’s expression. “Zuko?”

Zuko is staring. He knows he is, but he can’t help it.

“...um. Sokka?”

“He’s fine,” Sokka says, walking up and crossing his arms. “Just give him a minute.”

“...You’re apologizing?”

“See? Totally fine. I’m gonna go roast some meat. You three, talk about your emotions.” He stalks towards their supplies, and Zuko watches him go with some distress.

The Avatar turns back to Zuko, clearly worried. “...Will you still teach me?”

Zuko frowns but relents, "I said I would." 

The Avatar grins. “Really?!”

“You’ll listen, from now on," Zuko asserts, turning back to the fire. The amount of joy on that face is difficult to process. “If I tell you to stop, you stop.” He hesitates. His tutors growing up rarely explained why he was being scolded, but Uncle always had. In his own proverb-laden way, at least. Still. Zuko likes reasons, so presumably the Avatar does, too. And this is something he’ll need to understand _viscerally_ if he’s going to become a Firebender. “Do you understand why I stopped you?”

The Avatar nods solemnly. “I’m not powerful enough for that move yet.”

Zuko snorts.

It catches everyone- even Sokka, ten feet away with a half-staked fish- by surprise.

“No,” he says, swallowing his last shred of amusement. “That’s not it.” He looks down at his own hands. “That’s the first time you’ve ever bent Fire?” The Avatar nods in his periphery. “You’re a prodigy,” he says to the dirt, so he doesn’t have to say it to his enemy. “It took me-” _months_. “-a long time to master consistent breathing with fire.”

The Avatar’s eyes widen. Just as he begins to grin, Zuko continues,

“Your problem isn’t power. It’s discipline.”

The Avatar frowns. “I’m disciplined. I practice with Katara every day.” He turns to her for support. “Tell him!”

She shifts. “You’re a lot of things, Aang. Amazing, sweet, and so brave, but-” she winces, “I don’t think _disciplined_ is how I’d describe you.”

The Avatar gapes, clearly betrayed. 

“In case you wanted my opinion,” calls Sokka, “I wouldn’t describe you as disciplined, either. _Or_ sweet.”

“I _am_ sweet!” The Avatar declares, puffing out his chest a little.

Katara laughs behind her hand, but stops abruptly when the Avatar notices.

“My point,” says Zuko slowly, because he senses he’s losing his last shred of control, “is that fire isn’t like water or air. If you lose control of those elements, they just splash. Or-” He falters.

“Whoosh,” suggests Sokka helpfully.

“Left unattended,” Zuko continues, reluctantly grateful for the assistance, ”fire consumes everything.”

The Avatar shifts. “You make it sound... _evil_.”

“Wonder why,” Katara snarks under her breath.

“It’s not evil,” Zuko corrects, refusing to let himself become frustrated, because _this_ is the important thing. Regardless of whose side he takes in the war, the Avatar _needs_ to understand both the bad _and_ the good. “Fire is more than destruction. Used correctly, it’s warmth. It’s food. It’s life.” He swallows. “But it’s fragile. You need to be careful.”

The Avatar nods slowly, absorbing the information.

Even Katara seems momentarily open to the possibility that fire is not inherently evil.

“Every element can be destructive or helpful,” Zuko continues, feeling a little as if he were on a roll. “Fire may not be able to heal like water does, but it can-”

“What?”

There goes the roll. Zuko turns to Katara impatiently. “What?”

“What did you just say?” She asks, eyes wide. She doesn’t look angry, which is almost as startling as how intensely she’s watching him.

“...Fire is good?”

“You said water can heal,” Katara insists.

Zuko glances between his companions, at a loss. “...yes?”

“With bending?”

Zuko waits for more, but that seems to be it. “...yes.”

Katara turns to Sokka, then to the Avatar, then back to Zuko. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko replies, nonplussed. “I’m a _Firebender_.”

“Is that true, Aang?” Katara asks, turning to the Avatar eagerly.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I never met one, but I guess I’ve heard Water Tribe healers are pretty good?”

Katara considers, then pulls out her waterskin. “Sokka, come over here. Let me see your side.”

“Katara, I’m not letting you splash my stab wound with freaky water.”

“ _Sacred_ water,” she corrects, already moving towards him.

“That either,” Sokka agrees stubbornly.

“I don’t think just anyone can do it,” Zuko offers. “It’s like lightning bending. You have to be a master.”

“I can do it,” Katara says confidently, even as Sokka demands,

_“Lightning bending?!”_

She crouches by her brother’s side, hands laminated in thin layers of water. Despite his protests, Sokka still pulls up his shirt to reveal the stitches. Both the Avatar and Katara wince, clearly having expected a smaller injury.

She glances at Zuko, hands an inch from the wound. “Like this?”

“I don’t know,” he insists, irritated.

She doesn’t seem to register his annoyance. She presses her hands against the skin and furrows her brow.

Nothing happens.

“Wow,” Sokka deadpans. “I feel so much better.”

She frowns. “Aang, come over here.”

The Avatar hops effortlessly over the fire to join her.

Sokka meets Zuko’s eyes, crowded on either side by good intention. “This is your fault,” he accuses.

He doesn’t actually sound angry, but Zuko still defends himself. “I was just trying to keep him from setting the whole forest on fire!”

“Well, next time, just let him do it.”

“Quiet,” Katara orders. “We need to concentrate.”

“On getting my stitches wet?”

“On-” She falters. “ _Something_. Probably. Just sit still.”

“We could try freezing it?”

“Don’t freeze it!” Sokka snaps, glaring at the Avatar. “Why would you suggest that?!”

The Avatar shrugs. This seems to be the process behind most of his choices.

Sokka shakes free of their hold. “Look, Zuko said you have to be a master and you clearly have no idea what you’re doing. If you could heal, don’t you think it would have come up already?”

Katara isn’t deterred. “I just haven’t tried before, that’s all.”

“You sure didn’t,” Sokka agrees. “Not when I fell into the greasebeary bramble, not when that mink snake bit me, and not that time I had _two fishhooks in my thumb!”_

The Avatar cocks his head. “Two?”

“He tried to get the first fish hook out with another fish hook,” Katara explains confidentially.

“It would’ve worked if it’d been sharper!”

“Maybe a _third_ fish hook would have done the trick.”

“The point is I had to go to Gran Gran and you did _nothing_.”

“That’s not true,” Katara says indignantly. “I watched _and_ I laughed.”

The two siblings continue to bicker as the Avatar laughs along, neither of them truly angry and none of them aware of Zuko’s growing incredulity.

Two fish hooks?

Sokka was the _mastermind_.

He shakes his head and resumes breathing with the fire.

\-----

“Zuko, you have to sleep.”

Zuko frowns. The Avatar and Katara are already fast asleep. He’d thought Sokka was, too, but obviously not. “I will,” he says without looking away from the fire.

“See, I have doubts about that.” Sokka sits beside him, ignoring any semblance of personal space. “Seeing as how you didn’t sleep last night.”

Zuko hadn’t realized he’d noticed. He shrugs one shoulder. “I wasn’t tired.”

Sokka sighs a little. “You’re such a bad liar. Why do you even try?”

“If I gave up at everything I was bad at,” Zuko says wryly, “I’d never have anything to do.”

“Open schedule might be nice,” Sokka remarks. He grabs a nearby stick and cracks it in half, using the slightly longer piece to gently nudge a bit of firewood closer to the flames. “You could take a vacation.”

“I’m bad at vacations,” Zuko counters. “Uncle tried to make me take one. _Once."_

“How can someone be bad at vacations?”

“Last time you were ‘holidaying,’” Zuko replies, putting an appropriate level of derision into the phrase, “you started a rebellion in Douxing and were arrested.”

Sokka acknowledges the point. Then, apropos of nothing, “You were good with Aang.”

“What?”

“You were patient,” Sokka elaborates, shrugging. “Well, patient for you. More patient than most people would be with the pre-pubescent spiritual powerhouse that is the Avatar. He doesn’t always listen, but you got him to- for almost an entire ten seconds. Some of it might even stick.” He prods the fire again and it flares at the attention. “You’ll be a good teacher.”

“I-” Zuko swallows. “I’m not a good bender, Sokka.”

The Water Tribesman frowns. “What?”

Zuko glances away, uninterested in seeing the disappointment. He’s not sure when he started caring what Sokka thought about him, but he realizes with startling certainty that he does. “You should know that. I’m not a Master. I’m not even as good as my little sister. If the Avatar wants a real teacher, he’ll find one in the Fire Nation. I can even _help_ him find one. But...it shouldn’t be me.”

“You could have just taught him how to throw fireballs,” Sokka says. Zuko doesn’t see the connection, but the Water Tribesman continues before he can wonder. “You know how to do that, and he’s talented enough to do it, and it’s what he wanted to learn. But you didn’t. Instead, you tried to make him understand discipline, and patience.” He turns to Zuko. “Believe it or not, I’m not a Firebending Master, either. But I know you didn’t go the easy route. You’re actually trying to teach, and you’re trying to teach him the important stuff.” He shrugs. “None of us know what we’re doing, Zuko. It’s alright that you don’t either.” He claps Zuko’s back, and Zuko is too startled by his response to bristle. “Go to sleep. We’re not going to fly away in the middle of the night, and we’re not going to attack you. And if you’re worried about other people attacking, I can keep watch.”

Zuko has no arguments left. He nods, exhausted and finally feeling capable of giving into it. “Fine.”

He lies down and stares straight up.

“...Sokka?” He hesitates. He doesn’t want to ask, but he’d rather ask now than have Katara and the Avatar hear him. “If I- if I scream-”

“I’ll wake you up,” Sokka says smoothly, “and explain to them that we narrowly avoided a sabertooth moose attack.”

Zuko smiles a little. “...Thanks, Sokka.”

“Night, buddy.”

**DAY 2**

Zuko wakes up last.

When he jerks forward, suddenly aware of where and when he is, he sees that the others have already picked up the campsite. The Avatar and Katara are standing on the river bank, calmly trading a long stream of water.

Zuko has never woken up this late before.

It’s past dawn.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Sokka calls down from Appa’s saddle. ”Breakfast is by your head.”

Zuko turns and, disconcerted, notes that there is half a roasted fish waiting for him. It’s unnerving to know someone was so close to him and he hadn’t woken up. It’s not unnerving enough that he doesn’t eat. He finishes most of the portion and pockets a few bites for later.

As he walks towards the river, the Avatar spots him and bows deeply. “Good morning, Sifu Hotman!”

“Morning, Zuko,” Katara offers as the water they’d been trading splashes down.

Zuko nods at them politely, not yet awake enough to even _approach_ the title he's been given, before crouching to sip the cool river water.

“We were just finishing up our morning training,” explains the Avatar, trotting over. “Should I start Firebending practice?”

Zuko considers, then nods. “Get into your stance,” he says, “and breathe.”

The Avatar does, without question. 

Zuko walks past him towards Katara. “What is your brother doing up there?”

She glances at Appa. “Just looking over the map.”

“Why? We figured out the route yesterday. ”

Katara hesitates before answering. “He wants to visit some towns,” she says finally.

Zuko frowns. “Why?”

“We need supplies.”

Zuko’s frown deepens, because he may not always know when someone is lying to him, but Katara is almost as bad at lying as he is. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” she asserts, glancing wildly around her. “We need...firestarter supplies.”

Zuko arches a brow. “Is that a joke?”

“You need clothes,” explains Sokka as he approaches, the map tucked under his armpit. “Unless you’d rather keep looking like a super suspicious half-dressed Fire Nation soldier.”

Zuko glowers, because that’s a good answer even if it’s not the real one. It also presents other problems. “I don’t have money,” he says. “Zhao took everything I had when he captured me.”

“Why?” Wonders the Avatar, still in his stance and facing the wrong direction.

“Keep breathing,” Zuko orders, crossing his arms.

“Was it because you helped me?”

“It’s because Zhao doesn’t like me,” Zuko replies sourly, reluctant despite himself to let the boy feel guilty over Zuko’s stupid decisions.

Katara furrows her brows. “He’s your Admiral, isn’t he? Why would he do that?”

Zuko’s gaze flickers to Sokka. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I figure details are up to you,” Sokka replies. “And don’t worry, we have money. And if we run out, I’m sure you can perform a monologue for tips!”

“Soliloquy,” Katara corrects sternly, one hand on her hip.

Sokka cackles. Zuko angrily blushes his way to the beach.

\----

After breathing for a solid hour, the Avatar approaches Zuko with a solemn expression.

“I’m ready for the next lesson,” he announces.

“You’re not.”

“I know I can do this!” The Avatar argues, quickly dropping any hint of formality. “We only have a week, Zuko, and I know how to breathe. You said yourself I’m a prodigy!”

Zuko scowls at the reminder, but takes it under consideration. When they were young, Azula often got bored during her easier lessons. Maybe the Avatar’s tendency to wander off and play with Momo was the Pacifist Prodigy equivalent of melting the soles of tutors’ shoes. Maybe he, like Azula, needed the challenge.

And how often had Zuko demanded harder tasks himself while Uncle just dismissed him as not being ready?

“...Fine,” he relents finally. “We can work with fire.”

“Oh, yeah!” The Avatar leaps into the air, cheering, then quickly sobers under Zuko’s withering look. He bows slightly. “I mean, let us begin.”

Zuko scours the ground before finally finding a leaf wide enough for a beginner. He holds it out to the Avatar, his thumb burning a small hole in its center. “Concentrate on the fire,” he instructs. “Try to keep it from spreading for as long as you can.”

The Avatar accepts the leaf unsurely. “...there _will_ be fireballs eventually, won’t there?”

Zuko doesn’t even bother replying.

\-----

“Hey, Zuko. Got a minute?”

Zuko glances at the Avatar, currently glaring at his leaf. As expected, he’s done an impressive job at keeping the fire contained. He seems capable enough to be left alone for a minute. “Keep concentrating,” Zuko orders, following Sokka into the woods. It’s the first small bastion of privacy he’s had all morning. “What is it?”

“There’s a town less than a mile away,” Sokka explains, “but it’s Fire Nation controlled.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Sokka.”

“What if you wore a disguise? Maybe something less theatrical than the Blue Spirit mask?”

“I never admitted that was me,” Zuko notes pointedly. He thinks. “I’ll just wait with Appa, then. The bison, I mean.”

“...I know who Appa is,” Sokka assures, smirking. It fizzles to a considering frown. “You haven’t been to Fire Nation-controlled territory since you were banished, right? Wouldn’t it be nice to...visit?”

Zuko shakes his head. “It would be betraying my nation.”

“To buy pants and eat _Fire Flakes?"_

Zuko’s mouth waters at the very idea. The Wani cook always did his best, but the fare remained more Navy Food than Human Food, much less _Fire Nation_ _Food._ “No,” he says finally, refusing to let himself consider it. “It would be treason.”

“What’s one more treason?”

“I’m recognizable,” Zuko insists. “I don’t want my Father hearing about me traveling around with the Avatar! Not until- not until I can explain.”

“Fine. You wait with Appa then. Appa the bison, I mean.” They head back towards the camp. “Just tell us what you want us to bring back.”

“Food,” Zuko answers, raising an eyebrow, “and clothes.”

“Okay, but I’m assuming you have some _taste,”_ Sokka replies, rolling his eyes. “If you _don’t_ , then I’m buying you and Aang matching outfits and you’ll be eating nothing but tofu. You’ll be an adorable pair of turtleduck-loving vegetarians Firebending your way through the mountains.”

Zuko rolls his eyes but smiles.

\----

When they reach the campsite again, it’s just in time to watch the fire spread from the Avatar’s outstretched hands, to watch as Katara staggers backwards, to watch as his face flickers from glee to terror.

The Avatar reaches for her as the flames die away. “Katara!”

She bolts, but Zuko can already see the fresh burns on her hands. His stomach clenches.

“What did you do?!” Sokka demands, storming towards the Avatar.

The boy turns to him, horrified and clearly in shock. “It was an accident-!”

Sokka tackles him into the dirt, angrier than Zuko has ever seen him. _“You burned my sister!”_

“I’m sorry-!” He cries into the sand, not even fighting back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

“Sokka!” Zuko shouts, his heart pounding and his skin cold. “Stop!” He wrenches him off of the child, forcing himself between them. “It’s not his fault- it’s mine!”

“Not everything gets to be your fault, Zuko!” Sokka snaps.

“This is,” Zuko insists, refusing to budge. “It was my duty to teach him discipline. I won’t let you hurt him for my failure. Go check on Katara.”

“I’m sorry,” mumbles the boy on a loop, still curled up on the ground. “Sokka, I’m _so sorry_ -”

“Check on Katara,” Zuko repeats, tone softer.

Sokka swallows, then chases the way Katara had gone, leaving Zuko alone with the Avatar.

\----

Zuko isn’t a complete idiot.

There is an opportunity here.

He could just grab him. He could just run.

He’s never been good at talking and this was never going to work in the first place and maybe this three-year nightmare could just be _over_ -

But.

...The Avatar made a mistake. The Avatar doesn’t know what he’s doing any more than Zuko does, and the Avatar is a twelve-year-old boy who accidentally hurt his friend.

Zuko swallows and sits down. “She’s going to be okay,” he says quietly. “It’ll take a while, and she’ll have scars, but she’ll be okay.”

“I burned her,” he whispers, sounding hollow.

“Yes,” Zuko agrees, “but it was an accident. You didn’t mean to hurt her, and she knows that.”

The boy sits up slowly, a look of determination slowly replacing the terror. “I’m never going to Firebend again,” he declares.

“Yes, you will,” Zuko retorts. “This is just a lesson you needed to learn. You’ll be more careful in the future.”

“I- you _told_ me to be careful, and I _wasn’t_ , and now Katara is _hurt,_ and she's going to _hate me_ -”

Zuko thinks of what he knows of the Waterbender. “Why does Katara hate me?”

The boy screws his face up. “She doesn’t hate you. She just- she’s still mad.”

“Do you think she could forgive me?”

“Of course she will,” he promises, smiling at Zuko weakly.

“I hurt her on purpose. You hurt her by accident. She’ll forgive you. She won’t hate you.”

The boy fumbles for a response, seeming startled by the logic, then begins, “Sokka-”

“If he doesn’t hate me after what _I_ did, he won’t hate you. You’re young. You’re learning. Training accidents happen. He’ll understand that.”

Aang swallows, then glances up at him. “Was that a training accident, too?”

It takes Zuko a moment, a strange moment in which he forgets he even _has_ a scar, before he understands to what he’s referring. “No,” he answers. “This was...a different lesson.”

Aang frowns, puzzled, but the expression transforms into concern as he leaps to his feet. “Katara! I’m so _so_ sorry, I’ll never do it again, are you okay? I-”

“It’s fine, Aang,” she interrupts as she and Sokka make their way towards the campsite. She’s smiling. Zuko remembers what it feels like to be burned, even little burns that barely leave a real mark. She shouldn’t be smiling.

Sokka follows her, arms crossed. He _isn't_ smiling, but he doesn't seem as angry as before.

“What do you mean it’s fine? I burned your hands!”

She holds them up, showcasing the flawless skin proudly. “And I healed them!”

Aang’s eyes go wide. “No way! How?”

Katara beams. “As soon as I put my hands in the water, I realized exactly what we were doing wrong before. I could feel it. The water _wants_ to heal. I just needed to let it instead of trying to force it! Sokka, show them your side!”

Sokka dutifully lifts his shirt. The fresh wound looks more like an old scar.

Zuko frowns. “Did you take the stitches out first?”

The siblings glance at each other. “...we’ll handle that later,” Katara decides as she turns back to Aang. Her eyes crease sympathetically. “Are you okay?”

He glances between the three of them, then nods. “I’m glad you were able to heal yourself, Katara, but that never should have happened. I should have listened to Zuko. I should have been more careful. I care about you, and I would never want to hurt you, and I did.”

“It was an accident,” she tells him, holding his hand in her freshly healed ones, “and I forgive you. So forgive yourself, okay?”

His smile is wobbly. “Thank you, Katara.” He hesitates, then turns to Sokka. “Sokka-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just don’t throw any more fire at my sister, and we’re good.”

Aang’s smile- his palpable relief- is almost overwhelming.

Katara turns to Zuko. “Sokka told me you stopped him from hurting Aang.”

Zuko falters. “I- he didn’t mean to-”

“Thank you,” she interrupts, smiling. She steps towards him, arms outstretched in what is either a bizarre Water Tribe ritual or a very slow attack.

Zuko steps backwards, brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She stops. “Oh,” she says then, sounding as if she’s just realized the complicated puzzle she was chewing over is actually only three pieces. “Sokka was right.”

Zuko frowns. “About what?”

She takes a moment before replying. “...he said you’d be a good teacher, is all.” She smiles. “I’m glad you’re here, Zuko.”

Zuko isn’t sure anyone has ever said that to him before.

...he wonders what she means by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand Katara is now making friendship necklaces that match Sokka's bracelets. Aang is preparing a Best Friend Squad dance party. Zuko will eventually figure out that BFF doesn't stand for a 'Banished-Forever Failure'. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your comments!! I loved reading them and really enjoyed seeing what you guys are expecting from future chapters. Now that everyone has a better idea of who Zuko is and what the problem is, there's going to be a lot of well-intentioned gaanging up on him. Next chapter, he'll get to visit some Fire Nation controlled territories and see how well his Dad is handling things. My guess is that everyone will be super impressed and immediately join the Fire Nation.


	9. The Plan Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments, predictions, and many pleas for Zuko to one day be hugged! I reread them every time I need a boost.
> 
> I figured this story has had enough drama, so this chapter is just mindless fluff and gratuitous bonding. Hope you like it!

When Zuko was a child, the air often felt heavy, too thick to breathe. Not in a humid way, exactly, although it _was_ often humid. More like shuffling across a carpet until little sparks of static electricity flash blue when you brush metal. Like there was always _something_ about to happen given one wrong word or one wrong look or one wrong _something._ Zuko was always very good at finding that exact wrong thing to do, and the static electricity in the air would shatter around him like lightning. 

\-----

They gather up the campsite in relative silence. Sokka and Aang, normally the chatterboxes of the group, are reserved, and Zuko is not equipped to pick up the slack. Katara spends most of her time staring at him, but she doesn’t actually _say_ anything.

After a few hours on Appa, however, the tension eases. This is probably because Sokka has something to complain about. 

“It’s so _hot_ ,” he groans, not for the first time, fanning himself with his boomerang holster. 

“I thought the North was supposed to be _cooler,_ ” Katara agrees miserably.

Zuko doesn’t mind it. He just rests on the edge of the saddle and stares as the world beneath blurs by. He wonders idly if this is what riding a dragon felt like. While he understands dragon-hunting was a noble sport, he’d always preferred the idea of one as a pet rather than a trophy on the wall. The day he’d learned the creatures were all gone, he’d been disappointed. Uncle, misinterpreting the mood, had smiled and assured, “If there are any that slipped by me, Nephew, I am certain you will find them some day.” 

Zuko glances at Sokka, suddenly aware that the Water Tribesman could probably come up with good dragon names. Not that it will ever come up, but-

“Look!” Aang shouts, interrupting Zuko’s train of thought and Sokka’s most recent complaint. “A lake!”

Katara looks up at him, puzzled. “...So?”

“So…” 

\-----

 _“...Beach Party!”_ Aang leaps off of Appa when they’re still thirty feet high, and he cheers his way into a powerful splash. The bison descends straight into the water after him. He makes a happy rumbly noise as his face sinks into the water, bubbles gurgling their way to the surface. 

Zuko sits on the beach as Katara, Sokka and even Momo join in. He doesn’t have time for _beach parties._ He needs to be prepared for the next round of peace talks. While they hadn’t responded well to any of his best arguments, Aang _had_ expressed an interest in Fire Nation festivals. He could use that. Sokka might be more amenable to switching sides if he knew about fried pork-duck dumplings. Katara- well, he has no idea what to do about Katara. She's stopped glaring, but she hasn't stopped _staring_ , and he doesn't know what she's thinking. He's never been very talented when it comes to reading expressions _or_ reading the room, but _nothing_ these people do makes any _sense._ Who throws a beach party in the middle of Peace Talks? Have they already given up? Maybe there's nothing he can say that will change their minds and this entire thing is pointless and he’s wasting his-

He is suddenly covered in water. 

He scrambles to his feet, furious. “You splashed me!”

“You were getting in your head,” Sokka replies, idly backstroking through the water. His hair floats around him like a messy halo. “And if you have a problem with getting splashed, how about you _do_ something about it.” 

Zuko frowns, because that was- that was a threat, wasn’t it? Did Sokka want to fight him? Why? What had changed? Was this because of Katara? Because he’d stopped him from hurting Aang? Because of-

Sokka splashes him. “You’re doing it again.”

“I’m not going to fight you!” Zuko snaps furiously.

Sokka stares for a moment and then laughs so hard he sinks into the water. When he pops back up again, he’s still laughing. “Fight me?” He repeats, snorting lakewater out of his nose. 

Zuko reassesses the situation and flushes. He and his sister played on beaches often as children, but had quickly grown bored with mere _splashing_. The moment Azula could bend, they played that way. She was always better at throwing fire, but he was always better at dodging it.

He hesitates. Had Sokka and Katara played this way when they were kids? She was a Waterbender- that wasn’t fair, _he_ wasn’t a bender-

“Zuko, I don’t want to start another war so I won’t splash you again, but maybe you should take a break. You’re stressing _me_ out, and I’m relaxing as hard as I can.”

Aside from being shoved into various bodies of water by a monk and a 14-year-old Waterbender, Zuko hasn’t gone swimming in _years_. Now is not the moment to start. “I don’t have time to splash around,” he contends sharply. 

“It’s _fun_ ,” Sokka insists. “You need fun.”

“I’m not a _child,_ ” Zuko snaps. “I don’t need _fun_. I need _results_. I _need_ to _think._ ”

“Huh,” mulls the Water Tribesman, floating away. “A real think or swim situation.” 

Zuko ignores him.

\------

“Be prepared,” Sokka says, perched on the edge of the overhang, “for the best jump the world has ever known.” He does a few stretches as his audience watches, unimpressed. “This is called-”

Katara cups her hands over her mouth: “Get on with it!”

“-the Kyoshi Warrior!” He finishes loudly. He leaps off of the cliff, striking a strange but dramatic pose as he descends, a series of long leaves splayed in each hand like a common fan. He smacks hard into the water. When he resurfaces, his stomach is red and his voice is strained. “Ta- _da_.”

“That was great, Sokka!” Aang cheers. “Let me try!” He leaps out of the lake, bounding his way merrily up the cliffside. When he reaches the top, he shouts, “This is called...um.” He furrows his brow, then brightens. “ _The Avatar!”_

“That’s not creative,” Sokka notes, still floating in his agony. 

Aang ignores him. He leaps from the cliff with a delighted whoop, the wind around him picking up its speed as he dives deep into the lake. He spins his way out, laughing like mad in a towering twister of water, then abruptly stops bending and cannonballs back down.

“That was amazing, Aang!” Katara cheers.

“Mine was all about the fundamentals,” Sokka dismisses. “That’s just showing off.”

“Wait ‘til I’ve mastered all _four_ elements,” Aang declares, arms pillowed beneath his head as he bobs back to the surface. “I’ll be the greatest cliffdiver ever!”

“Please,” scoffs Katara, already climbing out of the lake. “Diving is about the _water_. I’ll show you how a _real_ Waterbender does it.” 

“Go, Katara!” Aang shouts supportively. 

“You need a name,” Sokka reminds her.

She reaches the top of the cliff and squints down at them, hands on her hips. “Fine. This move is called…” She smirks. “The water slide!” 

She raises her hands, brow furrowed in intense concentration. Zuko watches, reluctantly curious, as the water rises up to meet her in a long, wobbly incline. Her wrists twist, and it freezes. Grinning wildly, she leaps off of the cliff and skates her way down the slide. When it curves back up, she sails off of the ice, curls into a ball, and bellows, “Snowball!” 

The splash is impressive, but only Aang applauds.

“Not really a dive,” Sokka criticizes. Without a word, Katara sends a wave rolling over his head, washing his hair right over his face. He parts the curtain of his bangs and, unperturbed, turns to the beach. “Your turn, Zuko!” 

Zuko glares. “I don’t do that.” 

“You _haven’t_ done that,” Sokka corrects, “ _yet._ ” 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Katara says, wringing out her hair. She’s still bright-eyed from her dive, but her smile is sympathetic. 

Zuko bristles. He doesn’t need her pity. “I’m not _scared_.”

“We’ve all seen you do way more reckless stuff, Zuko. I’m not saying you’re scared,” she assures. “I’m saying you don’t have anything to prove. You’re allowed to ignore Sokka if he’s being obnoxious.” 

Zuko searches her expression for anything duplicitous, but Sokka was right. She almost seems _too_ sincere. He hesitates, then lets his defensiveness fade. “How can peace talks proceed if I never talk to Sokka again?”

“Wow!” Sokka exclaims. “That was almost a joke! Zuko, your training is yielding results!”

“....training?” Katara wonders, exchanging a puzzled look with Aang. 

“Oh,” Sokka says with a self-satisfied grin. “You’re gonna _love_ this.” 

\-----  
  


“C’mon, Zuko. Just _one._ ”

“No.” 

\-----

They decide to stay the night. It’s a chance to practice Firebending near a stable water source, and a chance for Sokka to catch dinner. He lazes shirtless on a boulder in the center of the lake, fishing pole held loosely as he wavers between napping and relaxing. 

Katara and Aang sit on the beach, hands dipped in the shallow water as Aang repeats _glow_ over and over as if _that_ will be the catalyst. It’s clear the process is more spiritual than mechanical, a factor which makes _describing_ it difficult and _learning_ it even harder.

Katara frowns up from the uncooperative water. “Hey, Zuko. Can we borrow you?”

Zuko obligingly shifts out of his meditative stance and joins them. “What is it?”

“It turns out it’s really hard to explain how to heal,” Katara tells him, charmingly self-effacing. “But I was thinking that maybe if Aang had a body to focus on, like I did, he could figure it out.” 

Zuko nods in understanding. After the disaster earlier, he needs to prove his usefulness. “I have a knife.”

She blinks at him. “...okay?”

“I'll make a small cut here-” He indicates the back of his forearm. 

“Uh,” Katara says. 

“-and he can practice healing it.”

“Katara!” Shouts Sokka, flat on his back on his fishing rock. “Don’t let him stab himself!”

“I wasn’t going to!” She snaps over her shoulder. She turns back to Zuko. “I _meant_ ,” she says, forceful but kindly, “that it might help if we had a body we could both look at. There are these flows of energy, these _streams_ , that-” She falters and sighs, more to herself than Zuko, “that are _impossible_ to describe.” She looks up at him again. “If you _do_ have any bruises or scratches, maybe we could take a look at them. You’d get healed, Aang would get practice, and no one needs to be stabbed.” 

Aang bobs his head. “I like that plan a _lot_ more.” 

“Sokka approved!” adds the fisherman, lifting a lazy thumbs up. 

“Fine,” Zuko grumbles. How was _he_ supposed to know that? 

Katara stands and Aang follows her lead. “Okay. Just- um. Stick your arms out. Perfect!” She cocks her head. “Do you _have_ any injuries?” 

Though it’s been days since he and Sokka escaped, Zuko still feels weak and perpetually hungry. Most of his bruises have healed, however, and his ribs are only a little sore. “No.” 

“Just having a body to work on will help,” she assures. She smiles at Aang encouragingly. “Okay, dip your hands in the water and then lay them against Zuko’s…” She considers. “Arm?”

“...Arm is fine,” Zuko says, because it seems as if she’s asking permission. 

Aang nods and water bends gloves around his hands. He hesitates only briefly before wrapping his fingers around the Firebender’s forearm. His touch against the naturally warm skin is cool, almost startlingly so, but Zuko manages not to flinch.

Aang closes his eyes. After a few moments of steady breathing, he offers, “...I think I feel something?” 

“After I healed Sokka,” Katara says, “it felt like a river running freely. Does it feel like that?”

“Not really,” Aang says. “It feels...off.” 

Katara’s brow furrows. “Off?” 

“Like…” Aang looks as if he’s trying to squint with his eyes closed. “Wrong?”

“How can I be doing it wrong?!” Zuko demands furiously, pulling away. “I’m just standing here!”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Katara promises. She turns to Aang and smiles. “Neither are you. You felt _something._ That’s progress!” 

“Can I try again?” Aang asks.

Zuko reluctantly offers his arm.

“You don’t have to,” Katara hurries to say. She hesitates. “How about we take a break? There’s no reason Aang has to master healing today. When we get to the North Pole, I’m sure we’ll both get plenty of practice.” 

“...Fine,” Zuko says, stiffly withdrawing his arm.

The team is more interested in peace talks than fighting right now, but if they understood how _weak_ he is, maybe they wouldn’t bother. The strong survive. The weak either get strong or get left behind. He’s not sure why Katara didn’t force the situation, but he’s not about to argue. 

\------

They don’t have peace talks. The three of them are far too exhausted for diplomacy after their day of drama and relaxation. Having thought of no new arguments anyway, Zuko doesn’t offer a dissenting vote. He just scans the constellations as the others fall asleep. Only when Sokka’s snoring outshines Appa’s does he close his eyes and rest. 

**Day 3**

When Zuko was banished and traveled on the _Wani_ , the static-filled air followed him. He felt the way the crew looked at him, heard their grumblings of discontent, knew he was the reason they were _here_ instead of home or on a _real_ ship. The day the storm nearly stole the Wani to the depths of the sea, that tension had eased, but it never truly _left._

\-----

In the morning, they fly until they can see the roofs of Shí lù. Zuko, reluctantly curious, agrees to come with them to the edge of town. It’s a chance to see what he’s missing, a chance to be _close,_ a chance, maybe, for Sokka to convince him it’s okay to go further. As it is, he almost makes it past the first building. 

Zuko stares in horror at the wanted poster. 

It's him. It's _definitely_ him. But it's nothing like a royal portrait, where he's painted to look serene and dignified. He looks like a common criminal here, scrawny and scarred, with messy hair- way too messy, it had never looked _that_ bad, had it?- and a furious expression. It's _him_ , but he can hardly recognize himself in it. 

“It says you’re wanted for treason,” Katara reads, peeling the page off of the wall. “That you helped the Avatar and his accomplice escape in two separate instances.” 

“That- that’s not what happened!” 

“It says,” she adds, “that there are witnesses.” 

Zuko groans, then manages to wonder, “Anything else?” Because of course there _must_ be, judging by the last month of his life.

She hesitates before continuing. “It says there’s a reward for your capture, or-” She swallows, exchanging a worried look with her companions. 

“Or,” Zuko repeats flatly.

“Or proof of death,” Sokka finishes for her, reading over her shoulder.

“That- that has to be a mistake,” Aang rushes to assure him, stealing the wanted poster and squinting at it. “A mistake in translation.” He flips it upside down, as though that might help. “Or the printing office got it messed up. That happens all the time!”

“ _Sure_ ,” Sokka agrees doubtfully. “But maybe let’s assume it’s _not_ a mistake and lay low for once.” He snatches the wanted poster from Aang and scrutinizes it. “I don’t want every village we visit to attack us for a frankly over-generous ransom.” He glances at Zuko. “Even if we _had_ ransomed you, we wouldn’t have asked for this much. I could’ve gotten a lot more jerky than I thought.” 

“Reconsidering?” Zuko asks dryly, stomach turning at the thought. 

Before Sokka can reply, Aang wonders, “What’s the big deal? People have been trying to catch me since I came out of the iceberg. Some of them are our _friends_ now.”

Zuko makes a polite noise of disagreement. 

Aang ignores him. “How does one extra wanted poster make a difference?”

Katara frowns down at her hands. Even _Sokka_ looks as though he’s edging towards a diplomatic response. Zuko is not about to abide misplaced pity. He _knows_ what he looks like. “I’m recognizable, Avatar.”

Aang stares at him, confused. Zuko can pinpoint the moment he understands; his eyes grow wide and he looks at the poster with renewed concern. 

Sokka squints at the description. “Does it seem weird to anyone else that your name isn’t on here?”

Zuko frowns. “What?”

Sokka taps the page. “It just calls you the Blue Spirit. No mention of you being, y’know, _Prince of the Fire Nation._ ” 

Zuko skims the poster again, troubled to find that Sokka is right. “We’re in the colonies,” he says slowly. “People know the story here, but they don’t know what I look like.” 

Sokka nods, following the logic. “They don’t want anyone knowing Prince Zuko is a fugitive.”

“That...that makes sense,” Zuko decides. “They don’t know what I’m _actually_ doing. If they think I’m blindly aiding the Avatar, they think I’ve abandoned my people. It’s better for the Royal Family to seem united.” 

Katara blinks at him owlishly. “They want you _dead_ , Zuko.” 

“Or alive,” he reminds her snappishly, stealing the poster back from Sokka and crumpling it into a tight ball. “It doesn’t matter either way. I’m not risking this entire stupid plan for a visit to some two ostrich horse town. I’m staying with the bison.” 

Katara and Aang turn to Sokka, the apparent royal wrangler, for confirmation. It’s vexing, but Sokka is already agreeing before he can complain. “He’s right,” he says. “For now, it’s too dangerous.” 

Zuko swallows the disappointment down. It would have been treason anyway. He shouldn’t have even _wanted_ to go in the first place.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Sokka says, smiling over his shoulder as they leave. “I’ve got a plan.” 

\-----

Less than an hour later, they return with bandages and new clothes.

\-----

After another day of flying, they make their next campsite. Sokka announces they're only a couple days from the Northern Mountain range, and that there are a few colonies along the way they can visit. Zuko tries the outfit on, then, seeing no logic in procrastinating further. They fit, mostly, but they’re also ugly and scratchy and green instead of red.

Katara stares. He expects something mocking, but she just says, “You look so _young._ ”

“I look ridiculous,” he spits back.

“You _look_ like your average extremely angry Earth Kingdom teenager,” Sokka corrects. “Once you put the bandages on, you’ll just be another random traveler, and you’ll be able to walk around without anyone being suspicious.” 

Zuko doesn’t _want_ to dress up like some traveler. He doesn’t _want_ to have to pretend he’s a peasant just to walk around his own country’s territory. He wants his Father to understand he’s _helping_ him, not betraying him. He doesn’t say any of this. He just sits in front of the fire and glares at it.

Aang joins him. “Should I practice breathing with the fire?” 

“I don’t care,” he snaps. He swallows, reminding himself that the whole _point_ of this exercise is diplomacy. Ruining it just because he doesn't like wearing green is foolish even for _him_. He swallows and forces his tone to soften. “Yes. Just...be careful.” 

Aang smiles. “Of course, Sifu Hotman.” Despite his breezy answer, his form is perfect and his breathing even. He takes it seriously, Zuko thinks. He just doesn’t do so _seriously._

“So,” says Katara pleasantly. “What does Zuko the Earth Kingdom Traveler do for fun?”

“Lee,” Sokka corrects. “Zuko isn’t exactly a common name around here.” 

“Okay,” Katara allows, rolling her eyes. “What does _Lee_ do, then?”

Zuko frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Your cover,” she explains. 

“I’m...a traveler.” She nods along, bright-eyed and expectant, and he scowls. “What else is there? I’m not going to talk to anyone. Why do I need a cover story?”

“Just try,” she insists. “It’s a chance to be whoever you want to be! Whoever you really _are._ ” 

“Katara-” Sokka begins, sounding exhausted.

“Let him answer,” she orders shortly.

Zuko hesitates, because this is obviously important for some reason. He supposes it doesn’t _hurt_ to have some sort of backstory planned out. He doesn’t thrive in improvisation. “Fine. My name is Lee. I travel.”

Katara nods vigorously. Sokka’s face is in his hands. Aang pretends to meditate.

“I like…” He squints, eyes catching on the woods behind them. “... _trees._ ”

“...Trees?” Katara repeats unsurely. “Like...botany?”

“Yes,” he says blankly.

She blinks, then smiles kindly. “So you like trees? That’s interesting! I didn't know that. What’s your favorite?”

“What? No. I don’t care about trees. You asked me for a cover story.” 

Sokka snickers. Katara struggles. 

She wonders, faltering, “Your cover story is going to be ‘I like trees?’” 

“You didn’t give me time to think of a better one!” Zuko snaps, crossing his arms.

Sokka is starting to wheeze. Aang’s breathing doesn’t match the fire's anymore.

“It might help,” she says slowly, “if you’re already familiar with your backstory. Maybe a good starting point is to think about what’s important to _you_.”

“...the Fire Nation?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Do you think that Lee the Earth Kingdom Traveler loves the Fire Nation, Zuko?”

Zuko glares. “ _Maybe,_ if he knows what’s good for him!”

“Zuko,” Katara presses, “what do _you_ enjoy doing? _Outside_ of the war and being a Prince and hunting the Avatar? _Hobbies._ ”

“Hobbies,” he repeats doubtfully. 

“Like the theater,” she says, bobbing her head. “You enjoy plays, don’t you?” 

“I haven’t actually been to one in years,” Zuko replies slowly. She doesn't sound as if she's mocking him, exactly, but he's not sure where else this could be going. “Not since I was a kid.”

“You’re not a grizzled old man, Zuko,” Katara comments, equal parts amused and exasperated. “That couldn’t have been that long ago.” He shrugs. “Well, what _else_ did you do?”

Zuko shifts. “I trained?”

Katara seems stumped. “Hm.” 

“When I was bored, we would invent new games,” says Aang, twisting around to face them and no longer bothering to pretend he’s meditating. “Do you know how many ways there are to launch fruit pies with Airbending? Because I know eleven!” 

Zuko ignores him and focuses on Katara. “What did _you_ do?” 

“Me?” She blinks. “I guess I spent _my_ time training, too.” 

“By training she means: look at me hover this ball of water, Sokka! Whoops, I lost control over your head, Sokka! _In the middle of the winter solstice, Sokka!"_ The teen glares. "My nose had _icicles,_ Katara. I looked like an upside down _elephant walrus_!” 

“That was _one time,_ ” she dismisses, before continuing defensively, “and I did _try_ to train. I just didn’t have anyone to help me. I had to figure it out on my own.”

“Soon we’ll get a real master,” Aang assures her, “and you’ll only give Sokka nose icicles on purpose.” 

“Or we could _not!”_ Sokka offers emphatically.

“No one could help you?” Zuko clarifies.

She shakes her head, eyes downcast. “I’m the only Waterbender in the whole South Pole.” Zuko remembers his conversation with Sokka and swallows uneasily. That hadn’t been a lie, then. “I tried figuring it out on my own,” she continues, “but until we found that scroll-”

Sokka tsks. “I think you mean _stole."_

 _“Pirates_ ,” she shoots back, as if that means something. “Until then, I’d never seen real Waterbending forms before.” 

Zuko can’t help but be impressed. While she’s not the most _consistent_ Bender he’s ever seen, it’s astonishing that she’s this good without formal training. Even with the best Firebending tutors around, _he_ still managed to be inadequate. He can’t help but wonder how good she could be with real training. 

“What about you?” Aang asks Sokka. “What did you do for fun?”

Katara snorts. “Sokka? Sokka ‘ _hunted.’_ ”

Her brother bristles at the teasing tone. “I am a _great_ hunter. If it weren’t for me, you and everyone else would be relying on polar bear dogs being messy eaters.” 

“He got better,” Katara allows diplomatically. She glances at Aang. “You should have seen him when he was little. _All_ he wanted to do was hunt like Dad.”

“I _did_ hunt like Dad,” Sokka asserts grumpily. 

“Oh, like that one time?”

“That time doesn’t count,” he denies quickly.

Aang glances between them curiously. “What one time?” 

“We really don’t need to go over this,” Sokka groans. 

Katara grins. “ _One time,_ Dad was getting ready to leave for his summer hunting trip. Sokka _begged_ to come along but Dad refused. He said he wasn’t ready, and would only get himself hurt. Everyone in the camp agreed, too, even _Bato._ But Sokka _swore_ he was ready.” She glances at her brother, and he sighs heavily but accepts the story baton. 

“I decided to _prove_ I could hunt. That night, when everyone was still asleep, I snuck out.” 

“ _Quietly_ ,” Katara adds, grinning.

“ _Really_ quietly _,_ ” Sokka agrees. It sounds like an old, shared joke. 

“I got my spear, a bag for game, and marched out.” He pauses a beat. “I got about a mile before I heard the _crunch._ ”

“It was a warm summer, but there’d been a storm a few nights before,” Katara explains. “The fresh snow covered up the thinning ice.” 

“I fell through,” Sokka confirms. “I was underwater for _ten minutes._ ”

“Not even ten seconds,” Katara corrects, rolling her eyes. 

“Turns out Dad had been following me the entire time,” Sokka explains. “He got me out and carried me back to the village. I was _blue_ ,” he adds, pulling on his shirt. “ _This_ blue.”

“Not _that_ blue,” Katara says with a steadfast dedication to the truth. She shifts a single shoulder. “But honestly, pretty close.”

“He made me sit by the fire all night," Sokka continues miserably, "wrapped in every blanket in the village, _and_ forced me to drink an entire _pot_ of blubber tea _._ ”

“...blubber tea?” Aang repeats, wincing.

“It is _exactly_ as bad as it sounds. Melted tiger seal blubber in hot water. Gran Gran swears it warms you up from the inside, but _I_ think everyone just _says_ they’re warm so she won’t make them drink anymore.” Sokka gags at the memory, and even Katara offers up an empathetic shudder. 

“When he could finally talk again without his teeth chattering, Dad demanded to know what he was thinking, going out hunting after he’d told him _explicitly_ not to.” Katara glances at her brother as she sets up the next line with practiced ease. “And he said…” 

“Hunting? I just wanted to go swimming!”

All three of them burst into laughter.

Zuko doesn’t. 

“And then what happened?” He asks.

Sokka, still half-laughing, wonders, “What?”

“ _After_ you disobeyed?”

Sokka’s expression flickers, but Katara doesn’t seem to notice. She just snorts as she answers, “Sokka spent the rest of summer known as the Great Hunter. Dad _never_ let him live it down.”

“...that’s it? That’s all he did? You disrespected him in front of the entire tribe, and he just- didn’t care?”

Sokka frowns as he replies, “He cared. That’s why he followed in the first place. That’s why he made me drink _blubber_. And like Katara said, he made fun of me for _ages._ ” 

“That’s not a _punishment_ ,” Zuko counters, annoyed and not sure why. “You disobeyed him. You _lied!_ He should have-have-”

“Should have what?” Sokka presses when Zuko falters. Aang and Katara glance between them unsurely. 

“He should have-” Zuko falters, “done _something_!” 

“What, flogged me in front of the neighbors?” Sokka wonders sarcastically, and he sounds frustrated, too. “Dunked me back under? _Banished me?_ ”

“You disrespected him!” Zuko snaps, and the fire leaps. “He had to make a point, for the good of the tribe! He had to teach you a lesson!” 

“He did,” Sokka asserts firmly. “I made a mistake, and he forgave me.” 

“Why would he do that?!”

“...because he loves us, Zuko,” Katara answers. Aang is silent beside her, watching. 

Zuko’s heart pounds and he feels cold even though the fire is _right there_ and he feels so much shame he can hardly breathe. What had he done wrong? Why did Sokka get that, and he didn’t? “You disrespected him,” he says again, voice shaky. “And he just- forgave you?”

“...that’s what family _does_ , buddy."

Zuko shakes his head, frustrated. Children represent their parents. _Their_ failure dishonors the whole _family_. Maybe it’s different in the Water Tribe, or maybe it’s different if you’re only the son of a chief, not a Fire Lord, but Sokka is _wrong._

“I felt so bad after I hurt Katara,” Aang says when Zuko remains silent. “You reminded me that when mistakes happen, the best you can do is learn from them and try to do better. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“I’ve made more than my fair share,” Zuko dismisses, glaring down at the fire.

Aang considers. “Well, do you regret what you did? Did you apologize?”

Zuko frowns. “Of course. I would take it all back if I could. But I _can’t_ -”

“Then you deserve forgiveness,” Aang interrupts simply. 

“People don’t just- _forgive,_ ” Zuko scoffs, reminded again that the all-powerful Avatar is at heart just a naive monk. “It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Take it from someone you tied to a tree,” teases Katara, smiling slightly. “It works like that.” 

Zuko frowns at her, startled. “I didn’t apologize. You can’t forgive me for that.” 

She huffs. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. Sorry, Zuko, but you’re forgiven.”

“No, I’m not,” he argues. 

“I forgive you, too,” Aang adds.

“For what?!”

The boy shrugs. “For trying to capture me?”

“I’m _still_ trying to capture you!”

Aang nods solemnly. “I forgive you for that, too.” 

“I forgive you,” Sokka adds and Zuko only barely refrains from setting them all on fire. 

“What did I do to _you_ _?_ ” Zuko demands. “I didn’t even capture you!”

“Exactly!” Sokka crows. “I forgive you for deeming me not worth capturing.”

Zuko groans and plunges his face into his hands. “This is so stupid.”

“Don’t mind him,” Sokka advises. “Stupid is just his word for _amazing._ ” 

**DAY 4**

Even with Uncle, the air sometimes felt thick. Zuko was only allowed into the War Room because of him. Uncle was the reason he was banished, _and_ the reason he wasn’t banished alone. Uncle had seen him at his weakest, _and_ he had seen him at his weakest and stayed. Uncle was the kindest person Zuko knew, and Uncle was an infamous failure. He was everything Zuko could or shouldn’t be. 

Zuko can hardly look at him without wanting to shout or beg for forgiveness. 

\----

The bandages are scratchy. Zuko’s left eye doesn’t have the _greatest_ vision, but not being able to see from it at all is disorientating, as is the added deafening effect from his wrapped ear. Sokka, perhaps having expected this, walks at his left, and occasionally makes too-casual remarks about upcoming trees or ditches. 

Zuko’s heart pounds as the town comes into view. Zhàn Shì is clearly an Earth town, but there are red flags draped across its walls, and there are Fire Nation soldiers walking its streets, and even red-wearing colonists chatting idly as they stroll.

He’s snuck into Fire Nation territory before, but always for a _reason_ , like updated maps or intelligence, and always as the Blue Spirit. This feels...different.

“You good?” Sokka asks under his breath.

“Obviously,” Zuko snaps.

Sokka hums. “Want some fire flakes?”

Spirits help him. He does. 

\-----

“Well?” 

They’re mild. They’re not crispy enough. They use too much cinnamon and not enough pepper. It tastes more like _dessert_ than real fire flakes.

“Zuko?”

“It’s fine,” he says, and keeps his voice from cracking. Barely. 

It’s just Sokka here- Katara and Aang have wandered off- but he doesn’t want _anyone_ to know that mediocre festival food nearly brought him to tears. 

Sokka steals a piece from the top, chews exactly twice, and immediately begins coughing. “Oh _spirits_ _._ ”

“It’s normally crispier,” Zuko notes.

“It’s _fire,_ ” Sokka gasps, already sweating.

“... _flakes._ ”

“I should have known,” Sokka groans, fanning his tongue. “Anything from the Fire Nation exists only to cause me _pain_.”

“ _I’m_ from the Fire Nation,” he points out, trying to swallow down his smile and failing.

“Yes,” Sokka agrees, “and look what you’ve done to me!” 

Aang approaches, no doubt drawn by Sokka’s melodramatic moaning. “What happened?”

“He had _a_ fire flake,” Zuko answers, rolling his eyes.

Predictably, Aang steals a piece for himself. For a moment, he seems fine. Then his face slowly but surely turns beet red _._ “Wow,” he says, wincing. “That’s... _spicy_.” 

Sokka, only just recovering, nods fervently. 

“Zuko!” Katara rushes towards them, _buzzing_ with enthusiasm. “ _Guess what!”_

The last time someone was _this_ excited to tell him something, Azula explained he’d be murdered by his own grandfather. He tenses, preparing himself for whatever news Sokka’s sister is bringing him. He can handle it. 

“There’s a play!”

He blinks. “...A play?”

“The Agate Prop theater troupe is putting it on, one block over!” She fans her fingers out, revealing four thin sheets of paper. “I got us tickets!”

“Tickets?” 

“C’mon, Zuko,” she cajoles, smiling. “You _know_ you want to go.” 

He does. He’s read some Earth Kingdom plays, and they’re so different from what he’d grown up watching. Their storylines glorify individualism and stubbornness, their humor is mostly derived from crass double entendres, and he’s heard their female characters are all played by men. Still… “We don’t have time to waste on _plays_. I’m _trying_ to end this war.” 

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Zuko, do you really think you’re going to convince Aang in the next three hours?”

Zuko scowls. “ _Maybe_.”

“Aang, do _you_ think you’re going to be convinced in the next three hours?”

“My tongue hurts too much to have peace talks,” Aang reveals, still red-faced. “Do you think they have ice at the theater?” 

Katara rolls her eyes fondly as she bends water from her canteen. It crystallizes to ice in the air and Aang pops it into his mouth. 

“Thanks, Katara,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. He glances at Zuko. “I still need time to recover. Emotionally.” 

Sokka claps. “There you go! Peace for our time can wait until _after_. A day at the theater is exactly the wacky time-wasting nonsense we’ve been missing! You need a break.”

Zuko bristles. “No, I _don’t._ ”

“You’ve been working non-stop since you joined us,” Sokka counters. “And before that, you were a VIP at Zhao’s health club. You need a second to breathe.”

“He knows how to breathe,” Aang assures as he steals another fire flake. “Trust me.” 

Katara takes the package from him, frowning. “Why are you still eating those?”

“They’re so _good,_ ” Aang explains as tears stream down his cheeks. “But so _hot._ ”

“They’re mild, actually,” Zuko says, tossing several pieces into his mouth at once. He enjoys the slack-jawed looks as he doesn’t spontaneously combust, and it is in this moment of satisfaction that he relents. “If we go, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

“Don’t worry,” Aang says, popping his collar with a smug grin. “We’re _great_ at undercover work.”

He sneezes on a chili pepper and flies five feet.

Zuko regrets everything. 

\-----

The theater is different from any Zuko has ever seen before. The audience wraps around the center stage, made of stone for easy set dressing, and so there’s not necessarily a good or bad section. It’s a sparse crowd, mostly red-wearing colonists, but Zuko doesn’t pay that much mind as he and the others file into their seats. He’s busy trying not to seem too excited. 

The pasi gong rings once and the low thrum of conversation vanishes. 

The play is...different than he expected. The raunchy humor has been downplayed, though much of the comedy remains slapstick and lowbrow. The lead, a young man in green garb who goes from peasant to soldier to rallyer of the people in less than three hours, breaks the fourth wall regularly, remarking to his audience on the incompetence of the Earth Kingdom and the impressiveness of the Fire Nation. 

A series of Kings march across the stage, each adorned in more gaudy jewels than the last, their robes dragging longer and longer. Finally, they all trip over each other as the narrator, gobsmacked, turns to the audience and laughs, “So many Kings and not a leader among them! They may not steal the scene, but boy can they steal our taxes!” 

The audience roars with laughter. 

Depending on the plot’s requirements, the Earth Kingdom is either conniving or stupid, excessively cowardly or willing to perish for its ignoble cause. The Avatar, in his brief but popular cameos, is similarly flighty. The Fire Nation, on the other hand, is consistently portrayed as strong and level-headed. When he is spared at the climax of the play by Fire Nation soldiers, the protagonist wonders in an uncharacteristic bout of schmaltz, “Who is to blame for our empty bellies and rising taxes? Who steals our sons as we lose a war we should never have fought? Certainly not Fire Lord Ozai!”

While Earth Kingdom plays generally end with the main character’s stubbornness and self-reliance being rewarded, the conclusion here is instead a call for cooperation. The lead defects from the Earth Kingdom, declares his loyalty to the Fire Nation, and quickly finds himself in a prosperous and happy family. “Now that those pesky Earth Kings are finished,” he muses, “only the coward Avatar is left!” He leans forward and, with theatrical relief, declares, “Boy, I’d hate to be him right about now!” 

The audience cheers with approval and amusement.

Aang pulls his hood a little lower and slumps.

\-----

“Well,” says Sokka as they exit the theater house. “That sure was technically a play.”

“It wasn’t an Earth Kingdom original,” Zuko mutters, crossing his arms. He doesn’t want to appear ungrateful, but he’s disappointed. It was basically the same show he’d seen a dozen times in his youth. 

“You don’t say,” Katara mutters. “What was your first clue?”

“The women were played by women,” Zuko answers.

“...what?” 

“ _And_ the meter was all off,” he continues, irritated. 

“This is your main takeaway?” Sokka asks, wincing.

Zuko frowns back at him, puzzled. “Yes?”

“That’s…” Sokka glances at Aang for help. The Airbender shrugs and he droops. “Okay.”

\-----

“As you saw today,” Zuko says, pacing in front of his audience, “the Fire Nation offers food, cultural expansion, and security.”

“Security?” Katara repeats dubiously.

“It was _safe_ , wasn’t it? There were plenty of soldiers there to secure the colony.”

Katara levels him with a challenging look. “From _who_ _?_ They weren’t patrolling the _perimeter_ , Zuko.”

“Ugh,” Zuko groans, pacing a little faster. “I’m explaining this all _wrong_.”

“You’re not,” Katara assures, softening. “You’re doing a good job. And you really _are_ helping me realize that the Fire Nation isn’t all evil.”

He waits for the punchline, then encourages, “But…”

“ _But_ I still think they’re wrong,” she finishes. “Think about it. How many _actual_ Earth Kingdom citizens did we see today? They were all hiding or staying quiet, and _none_ of them were Earthbending. They’re _scared._ ”

“It’s wartime,” he scoffs. “Of course they’re _scared_.” 

“No one should live in fear in their own home,” she asserts firmly.

Zuko swallows. “Well, _you’re_ not the one I’m trying to convince,” he decides, turning to Aang. “What do _you_ think, Avatar?”

“I think," he answers, "that you and Katara have both made good points."

Zuko internally groans. “Okay,” he says. “Anything more...specific?”

Aang thinks for a moment, then nods. “I don’t like the way I was portrayed in that play.” 

“It was just a dumb _comedy,_ ” he points out, a little surprised by the critique. “No one _actually_ thinks you’re some idiot coward bent on destroying the world.”

“Except," Katara notes, "everyone that watches the play who _hasn’t_ met Aang.”

“No one would take it seriously,” Zuko insists. “It’s over-the-top on purpose. And it was so _off-_ it almost seemed like a _satire_ of Earth Kingdom plays.”

“So the part about surrendering to the Fire Lord. That was satire, too?”

“Of course not,” he snaps. “That was- I mean, of course they’re going to exaggerate the _Avatar’s_ faults. You’re the enemy.” 

“If I’m really on the wrong side of this war,” Aang wonders slowly, “why can’t they portray me honestly?” 

“Because-” Zuko interrupts himself, annoyed. “It’s just a stupid play, okay? Who cares! If you join me, I’ll get the playwrights to give you a better role, how about that?!”

Aang’s gaze is thoughtful for a moment. Then he grins. “I’d like that!”

“I have some notes on my character, too,” Sokka says.

Zuko frowns. “What character? You weren’t even in the play!”

 _“Exactly_ ,” the Water Tribesman agrees with a sharp nod. 

Even though they’re in the middle of a war, even though they disagree, even though they’re _enemies_ , they spend the rest of the night talking and telling stories and laughing. With only a few starting embers, Aang successfully builds a fire. Katara cooks a meal with Fire Nation spices as Zuko hovers behind her, pointing out which ones work well together and which ones don’t. Sokka makes jokes at everyone’s expense, and doesn’t actually contribute much in terms of manual labor. 

Zuko falls asleep first. 

**DAY 5**

Aang is the Avatar, the most powerful bender in the world and the only person alive who could threaten Fire Lord Ozai’s strength. He also happens to listen to Zuko’s advice and criticisms with wide eyes and respectful bows. He grins perpetually, and the expression doesn’t waver when he’s talking to Zuko instead of his friends. 

Katara is the last Waterbender of her tribe, untrained yet brimming with destructive potential. She vehemently disagrees with every belief he holds sacred. She also says kind things when she has nothing to gain by saying them, and offers forgiveness for things he doesn’t dare offer apologies. 

And then there’s Sokka, who inexplicably _trusts_ Zuko, even though he’s only here under the thinnest of truces. Sokka, who doesn’t care about his bending limitations or his mistakes or his temper. Sokka, who just acts as if Zuko _belongs._

Zuko _knows_ he’ll mess it up eventually, knows they _must_ have some ulterior motive he isn’t smart enough to see, but it just feels as if the air isn’t as heavy as it always has been. 

It feels like he can _breathe._

\-----

Zuko wakes up before dawn to practice his katas. He hasn’t been able to perform them regularly since he was captured, and he’s unsure he even has the energy _now._ But Aang needs to know them, and so Zuko needs to know he can teach them. He walks down by the water and begins moving through the familiar forms. He’s weak, but that helps. His own incompetence encourages the fire in his blood to boil, and he forces this rage to spill out into flame. 

It’s not much, but he manages to adequately perform the basic set.

Someone… is applauding. 

He falters, glancing over his shoulder. 

Katara, sitting cross-legged by the treeline, waves jauntily. “That was amazing, Zuko!” 

How long has she been _watching_ _?_ “A _child_ could do that,” he informs her flatly. 

“That's some kid,” she remarks teasingly, standing. “Learn to take compliments, Zuko. We’re going to give you a lot of them.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I...guess?” Before he can reply, she bends water from the river, letting it wind around her wrists like ribbon. “Can you show me how to do that?” 

He frowns. “You’re not a Firebender.”

“Well, no,” she allows. “But I barely know _any_ Waterbending forms, and some of those moves you did looked like they might translate. Maybe we can learn from each other?” 

He hesitates, then nods. She’s the one that engages most with him during the Peace Talks, and he’d rather be on her good side. He's also a little curious to see if it could work. He goes through the first forms awkwardly, then gives her space to try herself. It’s slow-going, but it doesn’t seem as unnatural as he expected. The water follows her as the fire had followed him, and he quietly borrows some of her adjustments for smoother control. 

By the time the sun rises, Zuko feels properly awake. He kneels beside the riverbed for one last drink as purples and yellows spill out over the distant mountains. 

“I should wake the Avatar,” he says as he stands. “It’s dawn.”

"Wait, Zuko-" She wavers, and he obligingly sits back down. "What you said the other day...about forgiveness." Her thumb smooths its way across her palm absentmindedly. "It's good to seek forgiveness from the ones you've wronged, but you _do_ know the most important forgiveness, don't you?"

He hesitates, then nods. "Of course. And once I bring back the Avatar, I know he'll-"

"Not your _dad_ , Zuko," she interrupts, sounding genuinely frustrated. " _You._ Whatever happened to you, whatever you _did_ , you can forgive yourself without anyone else's permission." She hesitates. "You're a good person. No matter what happens at the end of this week, we know that, and you should know it, too."

He stares at her, heart pounding. "I don't-"

"And I don't need permission to say nice things about you," she adds primly, cutting him off.

“You don’t agree with me, though,” he says. "About the war." 

She doesn’t deny it. “Just because you disagree with someone doesn’t mean they're bad people.”

"You don't _know_ me," he stresses. "I- I know myself. I know I'll get my honor back some day, but-"

"You have honor _now_ ," she insists. 

"You can't just say things like that!" He exclaims, frustrated. 

"Why not?"

"You just- _don't_. Acting like that, it's- it's encouraging people to take advantage of you. I'm your _enemy_ , Katara. This isn't some spirits tale. You aren't going to defeat anyone with the power of forgiveness and compassion. Showing kindness is showing _weakness_ , how do you all not get that?!" 

She swallows before replying, as if she wants her words to be perfect. "Look: Sokka can tell you I’ve got a temper. And _everyone_ knows that holding a grudge is easier than forgiving, sometimes. But people are more than the ways they can hurt us." She trails off for a moment and lingers in thought. When she speaks again, her voice is soft. "We don't always have as much time as we want with the people around us. I never want to feel as if I lost the opportunity to say something nice to someone who needed to hear it. No matter who they are, even if they could use it to hurt me. Vulnerability is a risk, but how else can we grow? Forgiveness, kindness- they don't make you _weak,_ Zuko. They make you _strong."_

He stares at her and wonders if she memorized that from a play, too.

“Now come on…” She stands. “Let’s go through them one more time.” 

“The Avatar-”

“-won’t mind sleeping in for once,” she assures. “And if he’s mad, it's okay." She grins. "I know he’ll forgive me." 

\-----

They fly on Appa for several hours before they spot the next town. Zuko spends some of his time thinking about strength and weakness. He spends the rest of his time regretting waking up so early. 

\-----

“Well. What do we want to do?” 

Everyone turns to Zuko, as if he gets a vote. 

He blinks and says the first thing that comes to mind. “...The theater?”

\-----

The theater is smaller than the one they’d gone to the day before. It also happens to have less seating, less stage, and less walls. It does, however, offer a lot more ash. 

Zuko stares at the ruins in dismay. “It burned down?” There’s no smell at all; this likely happened days ago, if not weeks. Why hadn’t they cleaned it up? 

“How strange and suspicious,” Sokka says blandly. “Sure does raise questions, amiright?” 

Before Zuko can wonder what questions it raises, a voice comes from the shadowy alleyway beside the burned theater. “You kids looking for entertainment?” 

“No,” Zuko says, even as Sokka wonders,

“Entertainment?”

“We don’t want their entertainment,” Zuko tells him flatly. “Trust me.”

“I could go for some entertainment,” Aang maintains brightly, striding towards the shadows before Zuko can stop him. “What kind of entertainment?”

A lanky man steps forward to reveal himself, twitchy and mottled in bruises. He glances over each shoulder twice before leaning down towards the Airbender. “Yer not some kinda narc, are you?”

Aang blinks. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re travelers,” Katara explains, joining Aang with a warm smile. “You have a lovely town.”

Everyone ignores Zuko’s frustrated groan.

“Any of you benders?”

Katara and Aang nod eagerly. Zuko and Sokka don’t, for different reasons.

“Then yer gonna _love_ this. You ever heard of….” He leans in and rasps, _“Earth Rumble?”_

Aang frowns unsurely. “Like an earthquake?” 

“Like underground _fightin’_ .” His smile is as greasy as his slicked back hair. “Bloody _brutal_. Best Earthbenders you’ll ever see, crackin’ ground right under the Ashmakers’ noses.” 

Aang’s eyes widen. “Earthbenders?” He turns, delighted, to Katara. “I could find a master!” 

“I don’t know, Aang,” she hems. “It sounds a little dangerous.”

“Yer darn right it is!” Bellows the man. “And the _best_ entertainment you’ll ever see in yer pathetic lives. Next round is _tonight_ at sundown, right here. I’ll see you kids there…!” He tips an imaginary hat and slinks back into the shadows. 

“Is it just me,” Sokka wonders, “or was that guy _super_ weird?”

“Who cares!” Aang exclaims, excited. “I could find an Earthbending master tonight! With Zuko and the Masters in the North Pole, I could master all the elements by next month!” He pauses, momentarily diverted by the idea. “ _Wow_ , I’ll have so much free time-!” 

“No, Katara is right,” Sokka denies. “First of all, it’s an underground fighting ring. _Second_ of all, it’s an underground fighting ring _in a Fire Nation controlled town._ Knowing our luck, tonight is the night they get raided. It’s not worth the risk.”

“But _Earthbending_ -!” Aang whines.

“You’re still figuring out Waterbending and Firebending,” Katara consoles reasonably. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself.” 

Aang turns to Zuko. “What do _you_ think?” 

Zuko blinks. “Me? It’s none of my business.”

“Of course it is,” Sokka dismisses. “You’re a part of the team, aren’t you?” When Zuko opens his mouth to argue, he adds, “Temporarily, I mean, _of course_. Besides, I’m assuming you’re on my side.” 

Zuko blinks as everyone waits for his opinion. Katara and Sokka smile encouragingly. Aang is clearly begging for a tying vote. He should be ingratiating himself to the Avatar however he can, but... “They’re right,” Zuko says finally. “Focus on mastering the elements you’re already learning, and don’t put yourself at risk unnecessarily.” 

Aang groans as the siblings grin. “Wise stuff, Sifu Hotman,” says Sokka.

Zuko rolls his eyes and tries to look more annoyed by the nickname than he really is. 

He doubts anyone is fooled.

\-----

They split up, and Zuko doesn’t even think to worry that they’ll leave without him. 

Instead, he just wanders from storefront to storefront, regarding the things that these peasants consider worth _gawking_ at, from fruits to clothing to carved woodsmen. What stops him in his tracks, however, is a display in the window of a cramped antiques shop, remarkably out of place.

It’s a silver tea set. 

Simple, nothing like the extravagant sets they’d had in the palace, but dignified _._ Zuko stares at it without blinking, as if it might vanish if he looks away _._

“Let me guess,” says a voice over his shoulder. “You’re secretly a tea aficionado, too.”

Zuko snorts. “No.”

Sokka steps up to be in line with him, looking at the tea set with a raised brow. “Any reason you’re staring at this tea set with a passion you normally reserve for talking about honor?”

“My Uncle,” Zuko explains. “ _He_ likes it.” 

“Right,” Sokka says. He coughs under his breath. “Your Uncle. That’s...on your mother’s side?” 

“My father’s older brother,” Zuko corrects, remembering again how shockingly ignorant Sokka is when it comes to Fire Nation royalty. It’s a little refreshing. “The Dragon of the West. He nearly conquered Ba Sing Se.” 

“Wow,” croaks Sokka. “That...sounds impressive.” 

“It is,” Zuko assures, heart panging as he remembers how he’d treated the man the last time they spoke. He’d gotten impatient, like he always did, and he’d yelled and insulted and ruined any chance of a dignified goodbye. He wonders whether that’s how Uncle remembers him. He has no reason to think Zuko had eventually cooled off, no reason to think he’d searched for a gift that would substitute for an apology he didn’t have the words to give. He’d just remember Zuko how he had been: disrespectful and angry. He blinks, trying to swallow down the stone in his throat. He reminds himself that he’s closer to bringing home the Avatar than ever before, using a method Uncle would probably appreciate. “If this works, he’ll be proud.” 

“I’m sure,” Sokka drawls, sounding anything but.

Zuko continues staring at the tea set long after Sokka is distracted by meat and weapons.

\-----

“You bought a sword?” Katara demands. 

Sokka swings the weapon in a few wild arcs, making his own sound effects as he goes. “I did! Doesn’t it look _amazing?”_

“It _looks_ expensive.”

Sokka scoffs. “It’s an _investment._ You’re about to get a Waterbending Master and Aang is learning Firebending. I think it’s about time I up my melee game.”

“And what, you’re going to teach yourself?” 

“ _Please_ ,” he dismisses. “Zuko is going to teach me.”

Zuko blinks his way out of meditation and frowns over his shoulder. “What?”

“You studied with that pinecone guy, right?”

“Piandao,” Zuko corrects, unimpressed.

“Yeah, him! Show me what he showed you!” 

Zuko’s eyebrow twitches. “I studied with him for _years_ , Sokka.”

“Well, give me the accelerated course, then. I’ve fought with fans before, you know.”

Zuko glares, then turns back to the Airbender. “Meditate, Avatar.”

Aang snaps his eyes closed guiltily. “I _am_.”

“No, you’re listening to Sokka.”

“He’s being _loud._ ”

“Accept that he’s being loud,” Zuko instructs in his best Wise Uncle voice. “Accept his voice as another part of the forest and let it wash over you. Don’t listen to what he’s actually _saying._ ”

“That’s just good life advice,” Katara remarks.

“C’mon,” Sokka insists, marching over to them. “I saw how you took out those guys before. You’re _good_ at sword fighting.” 

Aang perks. “You should’ve seen him at Pouhai-”

“Meditate.”

His face shutters in an unconvincing facsimile of inner peace. “I mean, _ommmmmm._ ”

Zuko considers. He remembers with disturbing clarity the other man stumbling off of the road, abdomen red as the enemy pursued. In close quarters, a boomerang isn’t much help. Learning swordplay might really be the difference between a breathing Sokka and a dead one. “Fine,” he relents miserably. 

Sokka grins as if his answer had never been in doubt. “Great! What should I do first?”

“Sit down,” Zuko instructs, “and focus on your breathing.”

Sokka’s face falls. It’s Aang’s turn to laugh. 

\-----

“That’s some pretty fancy fighting,” Aang comments as Zuko and Sokka circle one another, their make-shift training blades clashing. 

“Thanks!” Sokka says brightly. “I think I’m getting the hang of it!” 

Zuko raps him in the shoulder to nip the overconfidence in the bud. “Concentrate,” he orders, just as he’d had to over a dozen times during their brief meditation session.

Sokka scowls but resumes his careful footwork. 

“ _Real_ fancy fighting,” Aang continues, circling them. He nods and whistles appreciatively and makes a variety of other distracting noises. “Don’t you think Katara?”

“I think it looks like two boys batting each other with sticks,” she answers dryly, idly bending the night’s vegetable stew in lieu of stirring.

“Hmm, good point,” Aang says, nodding some more. “If we want to see _real_ fighting-”

“We’re not going to that sketchy underground fight,” Sokka interrupts, yelping as he avoids a sudden thrust. He _does_ have good reflexes, Zuko thinks, that if honed could make him a formidable swordsman. He doesn’t say it out loud. 

“Why not?” Aang demands petulantly. 

“Democracy,” Sokka answers. 

“Democracy-shemocracky,” Aang dismisses. “I’m the _Avatar_. What if Roku _wants_ me to go?”

Sokka and Zuko slow, both of them sending him unimpressed looks. “Okay,” says Sokka. “Aang. _Did_ Avatar Roku appear to you in a vision and ask you to go to this Earthbending fight?”

Aang squints like a suspicious cat monkey. “... _maybe._ ” 

Sokka turns to Zuko. “For future reference, this is exactly as convincing as _you_ are.”

Zuko raps him again, too fast to dodge. 

Katara laughs. 

\-----

The soup isn’t as spicy as the cooks used to make, and it’s meatless, and it’s Waterbended into his bowl instead of ladled. It’s different. But it’s good, too. 

\----

Zuko isn't sure how he became Aang’s Firebending teacher, Sokka’s swordmaster _and_ Katara’s Waterbending tutor all within a week. Uncle used to say one’s enemy is often the best teacher. Zuko doubts he meant it so literally. 

He wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, what Uncle would think of all this. Whether he would approve. Whether he knows Zuko is alive _._ Whether he _cares_.

“What’s on your mind?”

He jolts, then swallows thickly. “Nothing.” 

“I’ve been staring at Appa for a half hour trying to figure out how he flies,” Sokka reveals. “By all accounts, it shouldn’t work. He’s huge. He’s slow. I don’t personally think things should float in general, but him _especially_ -”

“What are you talking about?” Zuko interrupts impatiently.

“I’m telling you what’s on _my_ mind,” Sokka explains. “That doesn’t mean you have to tell me what’s on yours, but sometimes sharing the mental load can help. Just talking to you, for instance, has made me think: what if Appa has hollow bones? Like a gigantic, fluffy _bird."_

Zuko hesitates, then says, “He only _looks_ huge. He’s mostly fur. He's probably not _that_ heavy.”

“Hmm, good point." Sokka considers. "Do you think if I got Aang to do that little leg-kick thing _he_ could float, no glider required?”

Zuko conjures and summarily dismisses the mental image. “I don’t think you should.” 

Sokka bobs his head. “Yeah. You probably need six legs, anyway.”

Zuko swallows. Sokka shared first, and even though it was _nonsense,_ it was honest. “I’m thinking about my Uncle.” 

“Ah.” Sokka sips from his canteen, then just sits there. No rushing, or prodding, or judging. Listening. 

“...you kinda remind me of him,” Zuko admits, staring at the fire. 

Sokka stiffens. “I remind you of the War Mongering tea lover? That...raises questions, mostly. I mean, I _like_ tea, but-”

“You’re patient,” Zuko interrupts, not prepared for whatever that rambling was going to be. Katara said it isn’t weak to be nice, to be open. She said it’s _strong._ Zuko can be strong. “With me. I mean.” 

Sokka stops talking. He stops _moving._ It’s as if he thinks any response at all will keep Zuko from continuing. He’s probably right.

Zuko just focuses on the flames and continues, “You both act like there's more to me than my mistakes. And you're both... wise? But in a _weird_ way. And ridiculous. And I never know what either of you are ever talking about-” 

“Is this what all your compliments are going to sound like?” Sokka wonders, but he’s grinning. 

“See if I ever compliment you again, then,” Zuko mutters with a scowl.

Sokka’s shoulder bumps against his. “So it _was_ supposed to be a compliment?” 

“Whatever.”

Sokka is still smiling like a complete idiot, but he lets it go. “You were getting a present for him, right? When you got arrested?” 

Zuko nods slightly. “It was stupid. He never even cared about catching the Avatar. He only came along because- I don’t know.” Uncle had just _been_ there when he woke up, patient and fond despite his nephew’s rage. Zuko treasured the affection even while testing its limits. “I don’t know why he did it. He could have stayed in the Fire Nation. It’s not as if _he_ were banished.” 

“You said he was your dad’s _older_ brother, right?” When Zuko nods, Sokka continues unsurely, “Why isn’t _he_ Fire Lord then?”

Zuko shifts uncomfortably. “My Father says it's because he's weak.” 

“And what do _you_ think?”

It’s not a question Zuko has really dared to consider. Lu Ten died, and Father said Uncle was too weak to take the throne. Grandfather died, and Father took it, and Uncle didn’t fight back, and that meant Father was right. It made sense because it was how life had gone. Uncle had transformed from the finest General in the Fire Nation to a lazy spirits-obsessed Pai Sho player, watching over his failure of a nephew, even...even following him into the dishonored unknown. That took strength, didn’t it? _Katara's_ kind of strength. “I don’t think he’s weak,” he admits, and it feels like lèse-majesté.

Sokka is quiet for a moment. “How much was it?”

“What?”

“The teapot. How much?”

Zuko's brow furrows. “25 copper pieces. Why?”

Sokka answers by digging into his rucksack. 

“What are you doing?” Zuko demands. “It’s not important. I’m not even- I’m not a part of your _team,_ Sokka, I’m not going to spend your money.” 

Sokka snickers as he pulls out his coin purse. “Gaang membership isn’t mandatory, but unfortunately the friendship thing is. And I always lend friends money. I mean, I would, probably, if I’d had friends or money back home.” He passes the coin purse to Zuko before the banished Prince can even understand enough to be baffled. “Go and get it.”

Zuko blinks, the word _friendship_ swimming around behind his eyes. “Right now?”

“Why not? Aang wants to go back anyway. You can keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble.”

“I _am_ the trouble," Zuko reminds him in disbelief. 

“Well, then, it’s more convenient to go together anyway. Saves time for everyone.” He turns. “Hey, Aang! Shopping spree!” 

\-----

They ride Appa to the outskirts of the village, then go the rest of the way on foot. Aang rambles on about what Earthbending techniques he’d like to see. Zuko absentmindedly nods along, more baffled than comprehending. Sokka had given him money _and_ the Avatar. 

It’s more trust than he should logically extend, and Zuko feels a strange sort of pride in that. So many have doubted his honor over the years- including _himself-_ but Sokka doesn’t. _None_ of them do. Aang had agreed immediately. Katara hadn’t even batted an eye at the idea that he and Aang should go alone.

Zuko doesn’t even consider betraying that trust. 

He listens as Aang chatters on about a friend who’d managed to Earthbend candy, amusement growing. Aang notices and beams.

Zuko forgets not to smile back. 

\-----

“You coming?” Zuko asks from the doorway of the antique shop. 

Aang shakes his head. “I’m gonna grab some more Fire Flakes before the show.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. 

“I can handle it this time,” Aang promises. 

“Fine,” Zuko allows. “But be here when I get out.”

“Of _course_ , Sifu Hotman,” Aang promises, bowing deeply before he sprints towards the food cart. 

When Zuko enters the shop, he sees the teapot right away. It’s been moved behind the counter and it looks freshly polished. He hesitates. This is probably stupid, isn’t it? Uncle already _has_ tea sets. 

“Good evening, young man,” says a voice from somewhere to his left, and he jolts. The shopkeep raises her hands, smiling benignly. She’s gray-haired and green-eyed and older than Uncle. Her long robes trail behind her as she walks to the counter. “Apologies. Didn’t mean to startle you.” She looks at the bandages first, of course, and then her eyes wash over the rest of him. “Can I help you?” 

“I want to see the tea set.” 

She nods. “Of course.” As she turns to retrieve it, however, Zuko spots a box of pai sho tiles just behind the counter. It’s a mishmash assortment from various sets, but he’s pretty sure there’s a White Lotus tile in the bottom corner. It’s older than the other pieces, and _chipped,_ and a little _faded_ , but it has character. Uncle would appreciate that. He would also appreciate having a replacement for the one Zuko had thrown into a river.

“Never mind about the tea set,” he decides. “Can I see the Pai Sho tiles?” 

“Of course,” she accepts, turning. She lifts the box to give him a closer look. “This White Jade tile was carved over a hundred years ago. Red rosewood, inset with ivory, lovingly kept. It’s a truly beautiful piece-” 

“I don’t care about that,” Zuko dismisses. “I just want the lotus tile.” 

She raises her eyebrows, considering him anew. “Just the lotus tile?”

“It’s the most important piece,” he informs her, crossing his arms. He may not know a lot about the game, but he knows _that_ much.

“Not many still cling to the ancient ways,” she intones.

He scowls and quietly doubts she has many repeat customers.

Her brows furrow and they spend several uncomfortable seconds staring at each other, each seeming equally puzzled by the other’s behavior. 

“Are you going to sell it to me, or not?” He demands impatiently. 

“I- yes, of course. Two copper pieces.”

Zuko nods and says, firmly but politely, “Thank you.” He recalls his conversation with Katara and wonders, “Is there a bookshop around here? Or a library?” If the lotus tile is that inexpensive, maybe he can spend a little on a book about Waterbending. If that one stolen scroll had helped as much as it had, imagine what she could do with something _substantial_. Maybe he could learn from it, too.

“The library?” The shopkeep swallows. “It burned down, I’m afraid.” 

“The library _and_ the theater burned down?” Zuko clarifies, surprised. “That seems…” He remembers Sokka’s earlier phrasing. “...strange.” 

Her smile is tense. “Tragic accidents.” 

He frowns. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Everyone,” she tells him. “As is the case whenever books are burned.” She presses the tile into his palm. “Free of charge.”

“What? Why?”

She shrugs. "Maybe I just like knowing there are still people in this world with the sense to appreciate a good game of Pai Sho. Think of me next time you play."

“I _don’t_ play,” he tells her flatly.

Her eyes crinkle with amusement. “One day, you might.”

\-----

Aang is sucking on ice when Zuko comes back out. “Did you get the tea set?”

“No,” says Zuko, slipping the tile into his pocket. “Is it just me, or is everyone in this town weird?”

Aang shrugs. “I like it. Someone gave me a gold piece earlier just because Momo did a trick!”

Zuko is momentarily surprised, but then wonders why. Aang just _does_ stuff like that. “What trick?” 

“He found the food in his pocket,” Aang explains. “And the gold coin!”

Zuko frowns. “Did he tip you or did Momo rob him?”

Aang’s grin wavers. “Ohh,” he says. “That explains the shouting. I thought he was just enthusiastic.” 

“It’s fine,” Zuko decides, leading onward. “We’re fugitives anyway.” 

\-----

When they find the dilapidated theater, Zuko thinks, for a moment, that they’ve been duped. Maybe it was an elaborate ruse to try and mug them. Maybe that grifter recognized him, or recognized Aang, and had actually turned them in. Maybe- 

“Well, well. You decided to come. Maybe you’ve got some stone in your spine after all.” The peddler from earlier steps towards them. “Entrance fee is two coppers. _Each._ ”

“You didn’t mention an entrance fee before,” Zuko comments acidically. 

“Didn’t I? Must’ve slipped my mind.” 

At Aang’s beseeching look, Zuko dutifully pulls out Sokka’s coin purse. 

After biting each coin, the man smiles. “Take a deep breath.” 

“What-?” 

Before Zuko can say another word, the dirt beneath his feet begins to spin, suddenly more liquid than stone, sucking him down into the Earth. It’s a strange sensation and he can’t help but think of the countless Fire Nation soldiers that had no doubt died this way, entombed eternally in the soil of a land far from their own. It’s terrifying, for the brief seconds of utter blackness, but then he’s spat back out, breathless and dizzy. 

“Wow!” Aang sways beside him, just as dizzy but far more delighted. “I have _got_ to learn that!” 

They’re in a narrow, craggy cave. The air is filled with energetic chatter and the mixed scents of sweat and fried food. They follow the sounds and smells and are delivered into a large cavern, wide-walled and well-lit. Throngs of loud spectators crowd around the raised platform in its center, holding up money and shouting at no one in particular. 

Aang weaves his way around the crowd, ducking under meaty arms and leaping over anyone short enough, as Zuko shoulders his way through. Eventually, they’re close enough to the stage to see the bloodstains and- is that a tooth? Zuko glances at Aang, unsurprised to find him beaming. 

“You better be Benders, standing this close to the stage,” remarks the broad-chested man to Aang’s left, observing the over-eager child dubiously.

“I _am_ a Bender,” Aang assures him. “I just haven’t learned Earthbending yet.” He blinks, suddenly registering the comment. “Wait, why?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the Smash Zone, kid? ‘Cause you’re _in_ it.” He chuckles. “You’re lucky I’m here. I’ll catch anything coming your way, how about that?”

Aang smiles. “You’re an Earthbender?”

“Sure am. I've fought all over, even in the _real_ Earth Rumble out in Gaoling.”

“Best fighter you’ll ever see!” Adds the scrawny man beside him, butting into the conversation with glee. “You’re talking to _The Monolith._ ” He jabs a thumb against his own chest. “I’m Zhang Wei, his manager.” 

“Wow!” Aang looks at The Monolith with starry eyes. “You’re that good?”

“Sure am,” he confirms proudly. “Never been beaten.”

“Bah,” scoffs an eavesdropper. “Quit lying to the kid.”

“The Blind Bandit doesn’t count,” Zhang Wei snaps. “Nobody can beat him.”

“The Blind Bandit?” Aang repeats. “Who’s that?”

“The reigning champ in Gaoling,” answers Zhang Wei, sounding miserable about it. “He's _huge._ "

“And _old!”_ The Monolith adds. 

His manager nods emphatically. “A full-grown adult man, yes he is!” 

“And he can see, too!” 

“It’s just a name,” concurs Zhang Wei.

“And he _cheats_.” 

_“And_ _so_ he doesn't count. Take it from me, kid, the Monolith is the best Earthbender alive!” 

“Bah,” scoffs the eavesdropper. “You couldn’t skip a flat stone.” 

Aang and Zuko back away as the argument continues. Zuko absentmindedly wonders whether _he_ could beat the Blind Bandit. A shame he’ll never know. 

\-----

After all the hype, the Earth Rumble is disappointing. Few of the fighters are creative, or even very talented. They just- well, they just chuck _rocks._ And while that delights the crowd _and_ Aang, Zuko is tremendously bored. 

As the battle royale nears its end, the crowd is louder and drunker than ever. The stage shifts to an incline and the latest loser tumbles into the waiting arms of his disappointed manager. The ringleader strolls across the platform as it resettles.

“Well!?” He shouts. “Is that all you’ve got!?” 

The crowd roars, but the words all overlap, and Zuko can’t quite tell what’s happening. 

“Come _on_ ,” he insists, sneering at his audience. “Someone here _must_ be brave enough to face our champion! You all know the prize…!” He tosses a small coin purse up into the air, then snatches it back with relish. “Does no one _dare_ face the Stone Slayer!?” 

Zuko is too busy internally mocking the name to notice the determination spread across Aang’s face.

“ _I_ dare!” He declares, leaping onto the stage.

Zuko pulls him right back off by the collar of his shirt. “He doesn’t dare,” he announces to the room at large. He then drags Aang through the crowd, ignoring the laughter as they pass.

“What are you doing?” Aang demands. “I totally could have taken that guy!”

“Sokka told me to keep you out of trouble,” Zuko counters. “Do you think he’d let you join an underground Earthbending competition?”

“He might,” Aang tries. “If he were here and saw how amazing it is!”

“Well, he _isn’t_ here and _I’m_ in charge. You shouldn’t draw attention to yourself, especially not in a town where you’re already a wanted fugitive.”

“ _You’re_ already a wanted fugitive,” Aang grumbles.

“Then don’t put _me_ at risk,” Zuko orders, counting on Aang’s inherent _goodness_. 

As expected, the Airbender slumps under the low blow. “Fine. But maybe we could stay just a little longer? My Earthbending Master could be here, Zuko!”

“Take a look around,” Zuko responds, slowing as he lets go of the collar. He gestures to the violence-hungry drunkards cheering as some new combatant is pummeled to the ground. “Are any of these people really who you want to teach you?”

Aang shifts a single shoulder. “They could just give me some pointers.”

Zuko softens. It’s easy to sympathize with impatience. “You’ll find your Earthbending Master. But I really doubt it’ll be in an underground fighting league.” 

“Yeah,” Aang allows miserably. “I guess not.” 

\-----

When they reach the end of the cave, a teen with one black eye and two missing teeth smiles cheerily and sends them spinning up to the surface. Zuko swallows deeply the second that he can, thankful to once again breathe air that doesn’t taste like grease and testosterone. 

They begin the walk back towards Appa.

“Are there fire tournaments like that?” Aang wonders, slowly recovering from his disappointment.

Zuko nods. “One is held every spring in Caldera. Fighters even come from the colonies.” 

“Wow! What is it like?”

“Warm,” Zuko says, trying to remember the last time he’d gone, “and _huge-_ ”

“I’m sorry, please- stop! _Please!”_

Aang and Zuko turn as one towards the terrified voice, brows furrowed.

At the end of the road, they see three figures: one is a short narrow silhouette, while the other two have the sharp edges of Fire Nation armor. The smaller figure collapses to the ground with a weak cry of pain. There is the blurred glow of distant fire, and the man wails. 

“Hey!” Aang shouts, dashing towards them. “Leave him alone!”

“Aan-” Zuko cuts himself off, frustrated, then follows. Aang is going to get himself arrested over some dangerous insurgent. Zuko is _supposed_ to be keeping him out of trouble, and he _refuses_ to have to have Sokka break him out of jail _again._ He'd never hear the end of it. “Come back here!” 

When they reach the soldiers, they get a better view of the situation. There is an old man curled up on the ground, a cane smoldering at his side. His breathing is thin and reedy, but he’s alive. Zuko hesitates. He couldn’t have been that much of a threat, could he?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aang demands. “Leave him alone!”

The soldier chuckles. “You serious, kid? Do yourself a favor and walk away.”

Aang straightens to his full height. It’s not very tall. “No.”

They glance at Zuko, unimpressed. “You gonna take care of your little brother before you two are wearing matching bandages?” 

Zuko stiffens, blood running hot. _“What?”_

“You heard her. Get going before we roast the both of you.”

Zuko steps forward, fists tight. “Walk away,” he orders. “Before we make you.”

“I swear,” laughs the soldier as she slides into a fighting stance, “some people just _want_ to be ash.” 

They don’t use warning shots _._ They see Aang, a twelve-year-old boy defending an old man, and they attack to _kill._ Aang dodges the flames easily, because of _course_ he does, but- but what if he _hadn't?_

The soldiers are reckless with their flames, and the buildings around them catch fire quickly. Zuko thinks- briefly, in the seconds between dodging fireballs- about the many accidents this town has had. Then he just focuses on the fight, and the fire, and staying alive.

Aang blasts one soldier back with a gust of air as Zuko fights the other with hand-to-hand combat, careful not to use his flames except for subtle deflections. He doesn’t attack like Prince Zuko _or_ the Blue Spirit, but rather as a strange mix of the two, with rage fuelling every move. 

It’s a short fight. 

As Aang checks on the old man, babbling about how if he had water he could try to heal his bruises, Zuko quietly douses the remaining flames. He’s too late, of course.

The town is already scarred. 

\-----

Much later, long after the old man has said his thanks and they’ve rushed their way back to Appa, Aang is still brimming with excitement. 

“Zuko, you were amazing!”

Zuko scowls. “I can’t believe they would just attack us like that.”

“Eh, you get used to it,” Aang says. “I _am_ the Avatar.”

“But _they_ didn’t know that!” Zuko snaps, frustrated. The old man _must_ have done something terrible. Maybe they thought he and Aang were in league with him. Maybe they really thought they were threats. 

(They’d threatened to burn Aang’s _face._ )

“I think they figured it out by the end,” Aang replies, smiling. “Did you see that tornado I made?” He pauses thoughtfully. “Do you think I could do that with Fire? A firenado?” His brows furrow. “ _Zuko._ Could I make a _lava_ tornado?” 

Zuko glares sullenly at Appa’s kicking feet, uninterested in any childish rambling. He goes over the interaction in his head again. Maybe the cane hadn’t been a cane. Maybe it had been a weapon. A _fake_ cane with a _poisoned sword_ inside-

“You should feel proud,” Aang tells him, smiling back at him from his perch on Appa’s head. “You saved that old man’s life!”

“He was a traitor,” Zuko snaps, shoulders hunched. “He deserved it.” 

Aang shakes his head, expression sobering. “Nobody deserves being treated that way.” 

“This isn’t an Air Temple!” Zuko snaps. He feels guilty almost immediately. “It just doesn’t work that way,” he continues, tone tense but less accusative. It’s not _Aang’s_ fault he keeps attacking his own soldiers. Well, it was this time, but still. “Violence is the only answer for traitors.”

“Maybe,” Aang says. “But _I_ don’t believe that, and I don’t think _you_ really believe that, or else you wouldn’t have helped back there.” Zuko scowls, but doesn’t argue. The Airbender considers him for a moment. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “I know what’ll cheer you up.” 

Zuko frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

Aang leaps onto the edge of the saddle, twirling his glider around his index finger. He grins. “Let’s jump.” 

Zuko squints. “I was explicitly told _not_ to jump off the bison.”

“Sometimes you have to let Sokka’s voice wash over you,” Aang intones wisely, “and not listen to the actual _words._ ” 

Zuko smirks in grudging amusement. “And how is jumping off a bison going to help?”

He holds out a hand. “Because it’s _fun!_ ” 

Zuko will regret this. He knows he will.

He still takes his hand. 

Aang pulls him up onto the edge. “Hold on tight,” he says, and leaps. For a moment, it’s nothing but fast wind. It stops feeling like falling, at a certain point, and it just feels like _flying._ And then they really _are_ flying as Aang’s glider expands and they swoop over the treetops. Aang’s laughter rings merrily and Zuko grins, unable to help it. Flying on Appa is peaceful, but this is freeing and fast and _exhilarating_. No wonder Aang is always so happy. 

The Airbender descends in tight little circles, and when they finally hit the ground, it takes a moment for the world to stop spinning.

“See?” Aang says. “Fun!” 

“Maybe a little,” Zuko admits. The amusement fades, however, when he realizes they’re far from the camp. “Now what?” He demands. “Appa is gone and we’re in the middle of nowhere! _This_ was your plan for cheering me up?” 

“Yep!” Aang grins and juts a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re going to race to camp!” 

“What? Why would I want to do that?”

“Your whole _deal_ is chasing the Avatar!”

Zuko scoffs. “I wouldn’t be chasing _you._ You’d be chasing _me._ And we’re not racing.” 

“I get it, I get it.” Aang grins. “You’re _scared._ ”

“I’m _not_ scared.” 

“I’ll give you a five-minute head start,” the Airbender adds graciously. 

“You’re acting like a _kid_ ,” Zuko charges.

Aang shrugs. “I _am_ a kid.” His grin grows. “ _And_ I’m faster than you.” 

Zuko narrows his eyes. Aang had pointed _South,_ while anyone with eyes could see the North star was the other way _._ That meant the Airbender would spend _at least_ five minutes going the wrong way. With an added five minute head start, there’s no _way_ Zuko can lose. He can be quiet when he wants to be- the guards at the Pohuai stronghold could attest to that- and he can be _fast._

“If I win,” he says, ignoring the way Aang brightens at his obvious agreement, “you do an extra thirty hot squats tomorrow. _And_ never call me Sifu Hotman again.” 

“ _When_ I win,” Aang replies with that casual self-assurance that manages to be confident but never cruel, “you have to give Appa a _bath._ _Including_ between his toes.” 

They meet each other’s eyes, a silent and intense battle of wills waging.

Strangely, it’s a battle to keep looking _serious_ instead of laughing.

“I accept these terms,” he says finally.

Aang begins stretching against a nearby oak tree. “Five minutes,” he reminds Zuko, holding up a hand with five splayed fingers. 

“I’ll try to stay awake until you get there,” Zuko assures evenly. 

“Three-”

“-two-”

“ _-one_.” 

Zuko dashes into the trees, heart pounding wildly without a hint of anxiety, a bubble of laughter barely restrained at the back of his throat, feeling younger than he ever has in his life.

At least he’ll be able to say he beat the Avatar at _something._

\-----

After tromping loudly South, Zuko quietly backtracks, keeping to the treetops to avoid making a sound below. The Blue Spirit was always stealthier than Prince Zuko, and it’s strange to leap from limb to limb without the comfort of anonymity. It’s also immensely satisfying. For the first time in his life, no one seems to care that he’s not a great Firebender, or that he’s weak, or that he’s perpetually confused. They asked him for his advice. They asked for his opinions. They forgave him for no reason. Spirits, they found out he liked theater and brought him to a _play_.

It's ridiculous, but they just seem to... _like_ him. No ulterior motive. No manipulations.

It’s strange, and it’s unlikely, but it...it feels _good_. 

It feels _fun._

Zuko reaches the campsite just as he hears, from very far away, a disappointed wail.

He grins. He’s about to drop down and feign impatience when he hears Sokka insist,

“He’ll change his mind.” 

“I don’t know, Sokka,” Katara replies, and Zuko makes the split-second decision to listen. He doesn’t know Aang well enough to know whether he’s getting through to him, but Sokka and Katara do. Their insight, ill-gotten though it may be, could help.

It reminds him, for a here-and-gone moment, of eavesdropping a lifetime ago on his father and grandfather, of hearing something he wasn’t meant to hear that would change everything. He ignores the passing thought and focuses on what Katara is saying. 

“-been _days._ I’m not sure he’s ready.” 

Sokka scoffs, frustrated. “Just because you don’t trust him-”

“I trust him to do what he thinks is right,” Katara interrupts. “And right now, he defines what’s right by what his _father_ thinks is right.”

“It’s not _his_ fault his dad is evil incarnate,” Sokka says grumpily, and Zuko’s brow furrows. _What?_

“I know that,” Katara assures. “I like him, too, Sokka, but-” She shifts. “We only have a couple days left until he figures out we were never going to switch sides. What do we do if he doesn’t realize the Fire Nation is wrong?” 

“I’ll make him realize,” Sokka asserts, unaware of how her words have robbed Zuko of his breath. “Even if it means tying him up with the good rope and forcing him into group ther-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. 

The fire blazes, bright as Agni’s fury, and both siblings scuttle back in surprise. 

“Oh,” squeaks Sokka, turning. He finds Zuko in the treetops easily. He's illuminated by a lot of fire. “...you’re back.” He swallows. “ _Well_ , how was the shopping spree?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plan is going great


	10. The Plan Hits a Snag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a bummer for everyone. Except for Momo, maybe? He seems fine.

_“Once,” said a warm, rumbly voice from somewhere to the left, “there was a Prince born in a beautiful garden. He was good-hearted and very brave.”_

_Zuko didn’t reply. His head felt fuzzy, like the tail feathers on a turtleduck chick, and the room swam around him. He felt very far from where he was, but not far enough._

" _He was raised in a golden palace,” the voice continued, even though Zuko had insisted he didn’t need stories. He wasn’t a child and he wasn’t scared. “And every servant was young and beautiful. His Father the King ensured he did not see the old, the sick, the dead, or the spiritual, for he wished for his son to grow up happy, and never face the struggles of life.”_

 _Zuko closed his eyes. He’d been in and out of consciousness for the last several hours- days? An aftershock of the injury, Healer_ _Gǔ Tou said_ _,_ _a fever that would break soon. He’d hoped, in his delirium, that they would turn back and deliver him to the familiar palace Healer and everyone would just forget this happened. But he was more awake than asleep now and he knew better._

 _"But no father, no matter how they may wish to, can truly spare their sons from pain, for that is what life is, sometimes.” There was a pause and it took a moment for the story to continue. “Our Prince left his golden palace and saw, for the first time, an old man. A sick woman. A dying child. And he understood that there was much of life he did_ not _understand. Though he was young, he knew that these truths would forever alter his destiny, and that he had to act.”_

 _"_ _...what did he do?” Zuko managed to ask. His voice was hoarse and low and he wasn’t even certain he’d spoken, but the storyteller had heard him anyway. He’d been listening._

 _“The only thing a wise man_ can _do when he hears the truth,” the Dragon of the West replied, squeezing Zuko’s small hand in his own. “Face it.”_

\----

Zuko drops from the tree, backlit by fire and blood boiling. He rips the bandage from his face as he stalks forward, and the fabric burns fast as it unravels. When he speaks, his voice doesn’t tremble and it doesn’t break. It is red-hot _steel_. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t _lie_ ,” Sokka tries. His tone is light and teasing, but his shoulders are taut. “I just-”

“Adjusted syllables?” 

The Water Tribesman winces. “Zuko,” he begins again, more seriously this time but _still_ trying to talk his way out. “I tried to explain. You weren’t _listening._ I knew I needed to _show_ you. I knew-” 

“You _knew_ I’d be too foolish to question anything as long as you dangled the Avatar in front of me!” Zuko interrupts furiously, slicing a hand through the air. Fire follows, and it has never come easier. “You knew, because I was in a place where I _couldn’t_ refuse _,_ I would follow you. You _thought_ you could manipulate the Crown Prince into becoming an enemy of his own Nation!” 

“Zuko-”

“All those times you mocked me for my honesty,” Zuko half-laughs, throat clogged. “I should have seen it...You were never _once_ willing to compromise on your beliefs; you only wanted to change _mine-_!”

“Zuko, please,” Katara says, stepping forward. Her expression is soft and sympathetic, but she’d been _‘too sincere’_ before, hadn’t she? All while they’d lied, as they watched him struggle to deliver argument after argument, out of his depth but _trying_ , as they dismissed every one out of hand. He’d thought it was his own inadequacy that kept them from understanding, but it was because they were never _willing_ to understand. “Sokka was only trying to help. We all were. The Fire Nation-”

“Is my _home!"_ He snaps. She falters at the sheer anger in his voice. “They’re my _people!”_

Sokka scowls at the interaction and demands, “The same people that want you dead? That banished you and captured you and put out _wanted_ posters of you and _tortured you-_!”

_"They were doing what they needed to!”_

“So are we!” Sokka retorts furiously. “Because you can’t see what’s right in front of you!”

“Zuko,” Katara says calmly, taking the reins back from her frustrated brother. She steps towards the banished Prince gradually, open palms displayed, as if _he’s_ the one that’s supposed to be scared. An untrained peasant versus a _Royal Bender_ , who does she think is really in _danger?_ “Please. Just think about what you’ve seen the last few days. Think about what you’ve seen since you left the Fire Nation. You have a good heart. I know-”

“You don’t know me,” he hisses.

“Maybe not,” she allows tactfully. “But I know that what the Fire Nation did to you is _wrong._ ” She hesitates for the briefest flash of a moment, and then she’s _determined._ “What your _father_ did to you was wrong.”

“How dare you even _mention_ him, you filthy little _peasant!”_ He snarls, heart pounding. Her face flickers, and it’s either genuine hurt or she’s manipulating him again, and he refuses to care which _._

“You’re mad at me, Zuko,” Sokka reminds him, frowning. “Not her. Let’s just calm down and talk.”

“I’m _done_ talking!” Zuko roars, and he spits embers. 

Sokka jolts back, surprised, and Zuko feels a cold burst of satisfaction. 

“Sokka-!” Katara cries, rushing forward to help, but her brother holds up a hand.

“It’s fine, Katara,” he says. “He won’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I _will!”_ Zuko counters furiously. 

“You agreed to peace for a week,” Sokka replies, irritatingly calm, “and I don’t think you’re going to go against your word. And I _really_ don’t think you’d hurt someone who isn’t defending themselves.”

“Then _fight_ _!”_ Zuko insists, fists coming aflame as he storms closer to the siblings. “Stop being a coward, stop _talking_ , and _fight_ me!” 

“I’m not going to fight you, Zuko,” Sokka denies evenly. “You’re my friend.”

“You’re a _liar!”_ Zuko snarls, and the campfire flares.

Sokka doesn’t flinch. He just shakes his head. “Not about this.” The flames cast him in flickering reds and oranges, as if he were already burning, and the shadows whip around his features like angry spirits, and he _still_ doesn’t make a move. If anything, he just stands _taller._ He’s really not going to fight, Zuko realizes. He trusts Zuko too much.

How can he _trust_ Zuko and still be _lying_ to him?

How can he call Zuko a friend and still want him to give up everything? 

Zuko grits his teeth. He’s just being manipulated again. It’s not _trust._ It’s just that even Zuko has enough honor to not strike down a defenseless enemy. 

Sokka relaxes ever so slightly when Zuko doesn’t _actually_ attack. And then he starts _talking_ again, as if Zuko cares what he has to say. “We never meant to hurt you, Zuko,” he lies easily, “but you needed to see what the Fire Nation is really doing. They’re taking away their benders, just like they took _ours_ , and locking them up in floating metal prisons miles from home. Children, and old ladies, and objectively attractive teens. _Anyone._ And if the towns fight back, or just cause too much trouble? They destroy whatever is left _._ They burn down towns, and forests, and-” He notices Zuko’s unimpressed glare and hurries to continue, almost _desperately,_ “and today, in that town! You think that was an accident? The theater? They burned it _down_ , Zuko, that’s what they _do._ And you _know_ it, you _have_ to know it, even if you won’t admit it to yourself-!”

 _“Enough_ ,” Zuko hisses, snuffing every lick of flame. The moonlight casts everything in sickly silver highlights, rendering the campsite alien and surreal. He needs to go. He doesn’t know where, but he _needs_ to go. “I’m leaving. The next time I see you- the next time I see _any_ of you- I’m _going_ to fight. I don’t care if you don’t fight back, I don’t _care_ if you think you’re right, I don’t _care_ if you think you know me. Get in my way again, and I won’t hesitate. Understand?”

Sokka, of course, immediately begins to argue. “Zuko-”

“I _asked_ whether you understood.” 

“Zuko, please,” Katara entreats, one hand raised beseechingly. “Don’t go. Give us a chance to explain-” 

“Where would you even _go?”_ Sokka demands to know, frustrated, his words overlapping with hers. “At least stay until you have a _plan-_ ” 

Zuko ignores them both and storms away, fists clenched tight. With a twist of the wrist, a wall of fire rushes up behind him, ensuring they won’t follow. They call after him, but the shouts can’t penetrate the ringing in his ears. It’s for the best. Given half a chance, Sokka would come up with the exact right series of words and Zuko would just _stay_. 

He stomps through the blanketed darkness of the forest, heart pounding as he dissects the past week over and over again. Sokka knew exactly how to manipulate him and, even after a lifetime of manipulation, Zuko didn’t see it coming. 

How was he so _stupid?_

And now- now look at him! He’s just running _away!_

He should, for once in his life, do what he’s _supposed_ to do. He should go back. He should fight even if they don’t fight back. He should hurt Sokka even if he calls himself Zuko’s friend. He should _kill_ him even if he saved Zuko’s life and smiled at him and joked with him and acted like he _wasn’t_ worthless- he was _lying,_ how much of it was a _lie-?_

He staggers as a wave of rage screams under his skin, boiling hot, and barely manages to catch his balance. His pockets are full of half-eaten fish and dumplings and bread, but it won’t be enough and he only has 21 copper pieces left and he’s in the middle of nowhere and 

and he’s so _stupid._

...should he have stayed? 

He could have lied, couldn’t he? He could have told them he forgives them or agrees with them and they’d have accepted it. He could have captured Aan- _the Avatar_ \- and Appa- maybe Momo- and then just flown back to the Fire Nation.

The Fire Nation that’s attacking old men and children in the streets. The Fire Nation that’s burning down libraries and theaters. The Fire Nation that takes away mothers.

The Fire Nation that doesn’t _want_ him.

Zuko growls and punches the nearest tree. It’s not as satisfying as it should be when the entire thing springs effortlessly into flames. He’s never felt so angry in his life. It’s _more_ than anger. It’s a strange echo of the way he felt after his Mother disappeared. It’s _grief_ and it’s _betrayal_ and- 

He collapses to his knees, anger subsiding as he feels a desperate ache in his chest, and an overwhelming surge of simple _hurt._

Sokka lied, but the Fire Nation lied first. 

They weren’t helping. They were destroying. They were destroying so much, and maybe he’d known that, a little, somewhere deep down, but they were still his _people_ , weren’t they? He _needs_ them to be. 

Who else does he have? 

“...Zuko?”

He clambers to his feet, a fire dagger in each fist. 

It’s the Avatar. _Alone._ They’d sent him _alone_. _Spirits,_ what is _wrong_ with them-? 

“They sent _you?”_

The Avatar shakes his head. “They told me what happened. I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” Zuko tells him, despite being in the middle of a mental breakdown next to a burning tree. “And I’m _leaving._ ”

The Avatar steps closer and doesn’t seem to care when the daggers flare. “Mind if I walk with you for a little bit?”

Why would he _risk_ that? “Whatever.” 

There’s no particular direction Zuko is interested in going, and even if there _were_ , the forest is too thick here to navigate using the stars. So he just starts marching in the first direction his feet point, and the Avatar follows. 

Neither of them speak for a very long time. It’s tense, but it’s also an opportunity to pull himself together, to slow his racing pulse, to blink back the burning in his eyes until his vision is no longer blurred. The leaves crunch underfoot in a rhythmic pattern, and it’s a calming metronome to which he sets his breaths. 

“We used to come through this forest when we visited the Northern Air Temple,” the Avatar mentions suddenly. It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to fill the air with words to distract from tension, like Sokka sometimes does. It feels more like he only just recognized the trees around them. “A hundred years ago, the Sky Bisons would migrate here every Spring." There's a smile in his voice. "There used to be these red berries growing _everywhere_ and my friends and I would pick as many as we could. If you were quiet enough, the calves would eat them right out of your hand. It was their favorite! I ate some once and got sick for a _week._ " He shrugs. "I guess I don’t have enough stomachs. When we finally got to the Northern Air Temple, I moved my bed over by the window so I could watch them play until I got better. They’d fly up to visit me and I'd give them fruit and tell them stories and one even came inside, once, during a really bad thunderstorm.” 

The story sounds like a faded memory, something equally cherished and cobwebbed. The lively forest the Airbender describes is quiet now. Zuko hasn't spotted _or_ heard a single firefly-cricket. His stomach lurches as his thoughts drift from the silent forest to the shadows of those children who’d hunted for berries amongst its trees. Zuko wonders, for a brief and terrible moment, whether Fire Lord Sozin was ever truly threatened by the Air Nomads. He marches forward with a scowl, fuming at his doubt, and tries to ignore the dense silence sticking to his skin like sweat. 

They reach the edge of the forest. There’s a small patch of yellowed grass and then a jutting overhang that stretches several feet forward. The drop to the valley below is steep. If Zuko intends to cross this way, he’ll either need to backtrack or exercise extreme caution. He refuses to hobble back to Katara for help. 

“Wanna sit down for a minute?” Aang asks, glancing at Zuko. 

It’s not as if he has anywhere in particular to go _._ “Fine.” 

They sit on the very edge of the overhang. The Airbender lets his legs dangle over the side, kicking back and forth like the child he is. Zuko glares out over the expanse, searching for pinpricks of civilization and finding nothing. The only real town within fifty miles might be the one where he’s already attacked law enforcement. He can’t go back there. 

Where _can_ he go? 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Zuko scowls. “I said I was.”  
  
"You’re allowed to _not_ be okay.”

He bristles. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re allowed to be angry,” the Avatar says. He shifts. “You’re allowed to be hurt.”

“I’m not _hurt_ ,” Zuko growls, glowering, and he feels the familiar embers start to burn beneath his skin. “I’m not even angry _._ I’m _furious._ Sokka lied to me. You _all_ did. You- you _manipulated_ me! You never _once_ considered joining the Fire Nation-!” 

“That’s not true.”

 _That_ startles Zuko out of his growing tirade. “What-?”

The Avatar shrugs. “It’s like you said. Every day that this war continues, innocent people die. I don’t want that any more than you do. If there’s a solution that _doesn’t_ involve me fighting your dad, I’m all for it.” He meets Zuko’s gaze. “I was listening to you, Zuko. I promise.”

Zuko stares back at him, his good eye wide. 

“I was listening,” Aang repeats, “but given what I’ve seen, I don’t think I agree.” 

Zuko swallows, then falls back on his righteous indignation. “ _They_ weren’t listening.”

Aang shrugs and looks like a child again. “They never knew the Fire Nation I did.” 

Zuko has the sudden urge to say _that Fire Nation would have killed you._ “Growing up,” he says instead, drawing his knees up to his chest and hunching over them, “I mostly stayed in Caldera. The places I visited were- were places _royalty_ visits.” He hates himself for even asking, but he still does. “Our towns- the towns we occupy-” He thinks of the old man again and lets himself think of him as _only_ an old man. Lets himself remember burned theatres, hidden shows, citizens in green with their gazes held low and their words carefully measured. Lets himself remember Aang, twelve-year old vegetarian pacifist they-didn’t-even-know-he-was-the-Avatar _Aang_ , dodging fireballs aimed to kill. “Are they...are they all like that?” 

“They’re usually worse,” Aang answers quietly. 

Zuko shifts as a wave of shame runs through him. This conversation is _wrong,_ and if he’s having it, maybe he _is_ every inch the traitor Zhao has branded him. “I _love_ my nation,” he snarls.

Aang bobs his head. “Of course you do.” 

Zuko scowls out across the valley. There’s little to see, even illuminated with moonbeams and starlight, but it’s better than Aang’s face. “Then you can’t actually think I’d _betray_ it for _you._ ”

“We’re not asking you to betray the Fire Nation, Zuko,” replies the Airbender gently.

“You _are,_ ” he rejoins forcefully. “You’re asking me to turn my back on _my_ people for _your_ cause, to fight my own soldiers, to act as if my Nation is _evil._ I won’t do it. _”_

Aang is quiet for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, “Have you ever had a toy?”

Zuko blinks, teetering between confusion and irritation. “A _toy?”_

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “One that mattered to you. A lot.” When Zuko just stares at him, he leans forward and continues, “When I was little, the monks showed me a huge chest _full_ of toys. They let me pick any of them that I wanted to play with.”

“It was a test,” Zuko says, looking away again. “That’s how they discovered you were the Avatar.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, tone wistful. “I didn’t know that. I just thought they looked fun! We didn’t really _do_ material possessions. Having those toys meant a lot, even _before_ I knew what they represented.” 

Zuko waits for precisely three seconds before pressing, “So?”

“So I loved them,” Aang answers simply. “And because I loved them, I carried them _everywhere_ and played with them all the time. My favorite was the wooden hog monkey. I used to go to the top of the temple and throw it off the tallest spire and then I’d jump and try to catch it before it hit the rocks.” He smiles distantly. “It was really fun.”

Zuko thinks that sounds like a miserable game, but doesn’t say so. 

“But one day- not even doing something stupid and fun!- it broke.” Aang slumps. “I was sure the monks would be furious. I knew how old it was. But even though it was broken, I didn’t want to lose it. I hid it under my bed and didn’t tell _any_ one. But Monk Gyatso figured it out.” His smile is bittersweet. “He always did.

“He was waiting for me in my room, holding the hog monkey’s head in one hand and the rest of him in the other. He wanted to know why I hadn’t asked for help. I admitted that I was scared he’d be angry, and I explained that I still _loved_ the toy even though it was broken. I didn’t want anyone to throw it away.

“And he said, when the things we love are broken, it doesn’t mean we have to love them any less. It just means that we need to put in the effort to help them. If we ignore the problems, or try to hide them from the world, it means those broken things will never be fixed.

“And I know that a wooden hog monkey isn’t really like a country,” Aang continues, glancing self-consciously at Zuko. “I know that having a nation and a family is a lot different. But I haven’t really had either of those in a long time.” He hesitates. “I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I _do_ know that it’s possible to love something and still recognize its flaws. Monk Gyatso taught me that the truest love in the world is the kind that helps.” He brightens. “Like Appa! I love Appa, but his breath _stinks_ , and if I fed him bushels of mint, I could help with that!” He slaps his forehead. “Ugh! That’s _such_ a better metaphor! I should have used _that_ one.” 

“No,” Zuko says quietly. “Your first one was fine.”

“It was!?” Aang grins, then quickly sobers. “I mean, it was. Good.” He shifts. ”I’m glad you understand what I meant. I know I’m supposed to be all wise, but I don’t think I’m really good at dispensing wisdom yet.”

“That story made a lot more sense than the proverbs I’ve heard,” Zuko replies honestly. He frowns down at his fingers and wonders how to put into words feelings he’s tried to suppress for three years. “When I was a child, I worked with Firebending tutors every day. I was told over and over again that for me to be great, I had to push my limits. That the minute I stopped trying to improve, I would backslide.” He pauses, thinking. “It’s like that, isn’t it? Loving your nation doesn’t mean blindly accepting it for what it is- it means fighting for it to be _better,_ constantly.”

Aang smiles at him. “That sounds pretty wise to me.”

Zuko thinks back to General Hageshi at the war meeting, willing to senselessly sacrifice hundreds of new recruits for one battle, a battle that wouldn’t even _matter_ in the long run, especially with Sozin’s comet set to return so soon. He claimed to be a patriot, they _all_ did, but that wasn’t patriotism. “Knowing where the lines are,” he continues quietly, “and keeping your people from crossing them.” He stares out into the dark. “I tried doing that once.”

Aang waits quietly for him to continue.

“I said that what they were doing was wrong. I- I was disrespectful, and I spoke out of turn, but I still _tried.”_ His heart pounds. “They said I was a traitor for speaking against the Fire Lord, and I was- disciplined.” He’s shaking. Why is he shaking? He amends, quickly, “And they were right, of course. I shouldn't have questioned the plan, not then, not there. Disrespecting the Fire Lord is disrespecting _Agni._ ”

“I haven’t talked to Agni personally,” Aang admits. “At least, not in this lifetime. But I think he would say that the mark of a strong leader is that when you question them, you get _answers_ , not punishments.” He considers Zuko. “It’s brave to stand up for what you believe in, and it’s _really_ brave to stand up to those you care about.” 

Zuko shakes his head. “It wasn’t brave, it was disrespectful. A mistake. It wasn’t my place.”

“It doesn’t sound like anyone else was willing to do what you did,” Aang replies, “or willing to face the consequences you faced.” He turns back to the valley and says, much too casually, “You’re an honorable man, Zuko.” 

Zuko is too shocked to argue. He’s too shocked to even _reply_. 

So he doesn’t. He just sits.

\----

For a long time, it’s quiet. 

Zuko keeps expecting Aang to leave, or to try to convince Zuko to come back, but he doesn’t. He seems content to just exist, to be there whether or not the conversation resumes. Zuko feels calmer than before, less likely to burst into flames, but it’s a double-edged sword. His anger has receded, but now he has a mind clear enough to just _hurt._

“What did he tell you?” He asks. 

Aang turns, puzzled. “Huh?”

“Sokka. This was his plan all along, right? Make it seem like I was convincing you to switch sides, while you three convinced me?”

Aang nods.

Zuko swallows. He’d figured as much, but a part of him had hoped, somehow, that he’d misheard. Misunderstood. Overreacted. That things could go back to how they’d been only hours before. “Right. Then- how did he convince you?”

Aang blinks. “He...said you wanted to come along?” 

Zuko rolls his eyes, frustrated. “Yes, but how did he convince you to _let_ me?” 

“I never _wanted_ to fight you,” Aang responds, almost offended. “I know you said you didn’t want to be friends- well, not with words, exactly, more with fire, but I understood what you meant- but that doesn’t mean _I_ didn’t want to be friends.” 

Zuko frowns. There had to be more than that. “That’s all it took?”

Aang nods, then allows, “Well, for me. It took a little more convincing for Katara.”

 _Ah._ “And how’d he convince _her?”_

“He didn’t really,” Aang answers honestly. “She was outvoted.”

“How did he _try?”_

For the first time, Aang looks a little uncertain, but he doesn’t avoid the question. “He said that you’d been captured, like him, and that you saved his life and that you were a good person, just confused, and that if we talked to you, showed you what the Fire Nation was _really_ doing, you’d come around and start ‘committing treason on purpose.’”

Zuko scowls. That _does_ sound like Sokka, but there has to be more. “Anything else?” 

Sure enough, Aang shifts uncomfortably. “He told us that your Dad is a bad person.”

Zuko huffs out a laugh.

Aang frowns, confused. “What?” 

“I know how he feels about the Fire Lord," Zuko explains. “You didn’t need to worry about telling me _that._ ”

“Oh.” Aang’s feet kick some more. 

“That’s it?” Zuko insists.

Aang glances at him. “What did you expect?”

“Easy-to-manipulate?” Zuko offers miserably. “Naïve? A puppet prince?”

Aang furrows his brow. “...puppets?”

“Not-” Zuko falters. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.” 

“You can be mad at Sokka for as long as you need to be,” Aang says after a moment. “And me, and Katara. We shouldn’t have lied to you. But please know that none of us ever meant to hurt you. We were just trying to help.” He smiles a little. “And I really _did_ like having you in the group.”

“What would have happened at the end of the week?” Zuko asks flatly, refusing to acknowledge the way his pulse flutters. Aang’s sincerity seems less questionable than Katara’s, or even Sokka’s. They’ve spent their lifetimes immersed in war. Aang spent his feeding bison calves. “If I never changed my mind?”

Aang considers. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I honestly thought talking would fix everything.” He cocks his head. “What would you have done?”

Zuko isn’t sure, either. Before this evening, he might have just- let them go? Accepted that the Peace Talks had failed? ...Requested more time? “I don’t know. But I think Sokka might have tried to _actually_ kidnap me.” 

Aang...does not disagree immediately. 

“ _Really_ _?”_ Zuko snaps.

“Well, it’s a possibility.” Aang shrugs. “He _really_ didn’t want you to go back.” 

“ _Why?”_

Aang shrugs again. 

“You think I should talk to him,” Zuko surmises sourly, crossing his arms. 

“I think everyone should talk to each other,” Aang says, bobbing his head. His expression turns serious. “I’d still be willing to talk to Fire Lord Ozai, if you want.” He pauses deliberately. “If you think he’d honor peaceful terms.” 

\----

Zuko ignores any attempts at conversation on the walk back to camp. He just tries to replace his hurt with anger. 

\----

The Water Tribe siblings are huddled around a burgeoning fire, speaking in low, troubled tones. They turn in unison as they hear Aang and Zuko approach. 

Sokka’s shoulders ease their tension, his relief obvious. “You came back.” 

“We talked,” Zuko explains without explaining. He sits in the patch of dirt furthest from anyone else. Aang sits down directly beside him, smiling. 

Sokka glances between them. “...good.” 

“I’m not back.”

Everyone stares at him.

“I’m back,” he corrects, flushing a little, “but I’m not _back_ back.” 

“...I’m glad,” Katara says. “We were worried about you.”

“Were you?” He wonders acidically. She flinches, and her fingers twitch in her lap as if she’d been struck. Zuko feels inexplicably guilty.

For a moment, everyone is quiet. The only sound is the crackling of the fire and Appa’s low snores. Aang glances around at the various uneasy faces, smiling whenever someone accidentally meets his eyes. 

Sokka opens his mouth to start spouting more explanations and defenses, and Zuko heads him off. “You lied to me," he accuses sharply, biting down his urge to shout. "Manipulated me. These were never real peace talks. This was all just--” He scoffs, “what, an abduction and a show?”

When Sokka gleans that it’s not a rhetorical question, he shifts. “More like a field trip. We were never going to _actually_ tie you up and yell at you, Zuko, no matter how much I might have wanted to. We just wanted a chance to-”

He stops the second Zuko holds up his hand.

“I want to do it for real.” 

Sokka frowns, puzzled. “...do what?”

“Negotiations. Tonight. I want to do it _right._ No more lies.” 

“...you’re asking us to _try_ to convince you?” Katara clarifies unsurely.

“You have to listen to me, too,” he reminds them forcefully. “ _Actually_ listen.” 

Sokka considers. “And what happens then?” 

“Exactly what was going to happen before,” Zuko answers. “Either you’re convinced, or I’m convinced, or we fight. Honorably.” 

“And if we _beat_ you?” Sokka wonders. “Like we do _every single time?”_

“You leave me behind,” Zuko answers firmly. “I’ll capture the Avatar eventually. It doesn’t have to be tonight.” 

“Does any of this _have_ to be tonight?” Aang asks. Zuko assumes it’s sarcastic, but when he turns to glare, the boy just looks exhausted. “It’s been a long day.”

Training with Katara as the sun rose feels like lifetimes ago. He’s hollow-boned and numb. If he fights them right now, the chance that he’d win is slim. “We can start tomorrow morning,” he allows grudgingly, “but you have to give your word you won’t just run.”

Aang presses a fist below his open palm and bows ever so slightly. “You have my word,” he promises. 

Zuko nods, and doesn’t bother asking Katara or Sokka to give theirs. “We’ll begin at dawn,” he decides, “and finish at noon.” That early, Sokka will be too exhausted to be clever, and might accidentally be honest about his intentions. And when it’s over, Zuko will have the high-noon sun at his back, and the best chance of winning a fight. He’ll also have enough daylight to reach town if he _doesn’t_ win. He’s actually thought this out. Uncle would be proud. Sokka, too, maybe, in another life.

So of course someone has to argue. 

“We should fly a little further in the morning,” Aang recommends. 

Zuko glares. “Why would I agree to that?” 

“Just in case talking doesn’t work,” he explains, only a little awkward about planning for Zuko’s failure. “You should be near a neutral town. Or at least one where they won’t be looking for you.” 

“They’re looking for the Blue Spirit,” Katara points out. “Not _Lee._ ”

“Yeah,” Aang allows, “but he fought them when he was in disguise.”

Her brows furrow. “Fought who?”

“The soldiers.”

“Soldiers?” Sokka repeats.

“The Fire Nation soldiers,” Aang concurs, nodding.

Sokka glances between them. “Fire Nation soldiers? When did he fight _Fire Nation soldiers?_ You guys weren’t even gone _two hours!”_

“It was complicated,” Zuko defends, feeling a little wrong-footed. 

“They were attacking an old man,” Aang explains. “Zuko saved his life!”

“They were interrogating a suspect,” he corrects snappishly.

Katara frowns, confused. “So you _didn’t_ fight the soldiers?” 

“Of _course_ I did, they were threatening Aang!” Everyone stares at him _._ “The Avatar,” he amends quickly, realizing his mistake. He barrels on. “The point is I had to step in then, just like I had to when he tried to fight the Stone Slayer!”

“You went to buy a teapot,” Sokka summarizes slowly, “and you fought soldiers and Stone Slayers and came back with no teapot.” 

“I didn’t even _get_ to fight the Stone Slayer,” Aang grumbles. 

“Fine,” Zuko snaps, standing. “Fine! We’ll fly further North in the morning.” The conversation is veering dangerously close to _casual_ , and he can’t risk falling into the same trap. He has to be ready to _actually_ fight. Maybe there _are_ things wrong with the Fire Nation, things his father needs to know, but their refusal to surrender the war is exactly what’s forcing it to continue. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces, storming towards Appa before they can start telling stories. He doesn’t need to hear about all of the Avatar's friends who were killed before they got their tattoos, or about Sokka's brave but doting Father. He just needs to _think._

“You’re sleeping in the saddle?” Katara wonders uncertainly.

“We promised we wouldn’t fly off in the middle of the night,” Sokka reminds him, annoyed.

“I won’t be relying on your _word_ any more than I have to,” Zuko snaps back at them. He clambers up into the saddle and lies flat, feeling angry and miserable. The makeshift bed rises and falls with every massive breath the bison takes, and he joins the animal’s sleepy rhythm until he feels less combustible. The others murmur a little while longer. He only catches snatches of the conversation:

“-happened out there?”

“-on’t think he _hates_ you-”

“-not gonna change his mind-”

“-is hope.” 

None of it sounds like conspiring, but Zuko still stays wide awake until they mumble their good nights. Sokka is already snoring by the time Momo crafts his perfect spot on Aang’s chest. Zuko watches over the edge of the saddle as Katara douses the fire. She glances his way, and he quickly ducks to avoid her notice. When he dares peek again, she’s fast asleep in her bed roll, one hand lingering at her throat.

Her necklace, he remembers suddenly. Lifetimes ago, tied to a tree and in immeasurable danger, that’s what she had focused on. Her _mother’s_ necklace. 

Spirits, he’d mocked her with her dead mother’s necklace.

He collapses back onto the saddle, stifling a frustrated groan. After everything he’d done to them, how had he ever convinced himself that they liked him? Or that they would actually consider what he had to say? True, he’d been desperate, but desperation doesn’t _have_ to mean stupid. In his place, Azula would have known their intentions from the beginning. She probably would have played along. 

_Oh, yes, Avatar,_ she’d have said, _I agree with you completely. The Fire Nation has lost its way. You and I will set it back on its rightful course._

Aang would have believed her. If Katara spoke against her during Peace Talks, she would have broken down every argument to its core parts and dismissed them all. Ty Lee may know physical pressure points, but Azula knows the mind’s, and she can disable a foe as easily in conversation as through violence. Katara would have either been convinced or her influence grievously diminished. Any of Sokka’s manipulations would be ham-fisted compared to hers. She would see him groping in the darkness for light and happily pretend to be the sort of person he naively wished she was.

She’d deliver all three of them to the Fire Lord, kneel humbly, and say, _I don’t know why Zuzu makes things so difficult for himself. It’s almost as if he’s_ trying _to fail._

Zuko jerks forward with an aborted gasp, freezing cold with a pit in his stomach. The idle line of thinking had at some point dissolved into a dream. He can still see the fire of his Father’s throne mere feet away, the three rebels unconscious and in chains, Azula’s sharp smile.

She hadn’t always smiled like that. She used to giggle at his impressions and name the turtleducks after servants. That was before she knew they were flammable, of course. 

Zuko shifts to the back of the saddle and buries one hand deep in the downy fur. Appa rumbles appreciatively in his sleep. Momo, sensing that someone somewhere is getting more attention than he is, scurries off of Aang’s chest and bolts towards the bison. He settles, warm and soft, in the Firebender’s lap. Zuko scratches where the tail sprouts, and the little puddle of fur purrs contentedly. 

His head dips, and he shakes the weariness off. Dawn is only a few hours away.

They can’t kill him if he’s awake, they can’t leave without him if he’s awake, and they can’t hear him scream if he’s awake. 

So he just won’t sleep.

**Day 6**

When he wakes up, he’s in the sky.

He jolts in surprise. Momo chitters indignantly, then drags his arm back down, curling up around his hand in a tight little knot. 

“Morning, Zuko,” Katara says, and it seems as much a warning for the others as an actual greeting.

He scrubs his free hand against his eyes, furious with the world for being like this and furious with himself for sleeping through it. They could have just _left._ “Where are we?”

“Almost there,” Aang answers. “I figured we’d stop at the base of the mountain range?”

There are a series of towns near the Northern Air Temple, Zuko remembers. Worst case scenario, he can find shelter, food, and communications. He’d still have an uphill climb from there, but at least he won’t be wandering unfamiliar woods. When he realizes he’s already expecting to fail, Zuko hunches down and flatly replies, “Fine.”

Sokka shifts towards him, and Katara shifts obligingly in the opposite direction. Zuko isn’t sure why they bothered. The saddle isn’t _that_ big, and the illusion of privacy is just that: an illusion. “I wanted to talk,” Sokka says anyway, “just you and me.” 

Zuko sneers. “Sure you want to be alone with me?” 

“I meant what I said,” the man insists. “I trust you.” 

“You shouldn’t.” 

“Zuko, you’re my _friend-_ ” 

“We’re _not_ friends,” he interrupts coldly. 

Sokka rolls his eyes. “See, you keep _saying_ that, but-”

“Maybe we were,” Zuko allows abruptly, feeling strangely vulnerable at the admission, “or maybe we _could_ have been. But that was before.” For once, there’s no smile hidden in the corner of Sokka’s mouth. “That was when I thought you were someone else.” Zuko shakes his head and lets his hurt alchemize to fury. “But you’re nothing but a liar. A manipulator. I’m not as stupid as you think I am, and I’m not going to make the same mistakes again. I’m not here to listen to your stupid puns, or to splash around in water, or to teach a grown man how to breathe. I’m here because my nation needs me to be.” He waits for this to settle before he leans forward and continues, “So stop thinking of me as weak. Stop thinking of me as a friend. Because the second this is done, the _second_ the Avatar says he won’t be joining the Fire Nation-” With his sharpest Azula look, he promises, “I won’t hesitate.” 

Sokka glares. It’s an expression Zuko hasn’t seen in weeks, not since they were just opponents in a clear-cut, simple fight. Zuko tries to feel satisfied. It’s _good_ they’re clearing the air. Good that Sokka won’t pretend to like him anymore. He expects reciprocal threatening, but the Water Tribesman just scowls, crosses his arms, and turns away. 

“What play did you get _that_ from?” 

\----

“Okay,” says Aang nervously, grinning way too much, “let’s get peaceful!” He glances around the empty clearing. “Should we make tea? Don’t peace talks normally have tea ceremonies?” He claps once. “Okay, I’ll unpack cups, and between Katara’s Waterbending and Zuko’s Firebending and Sokka’s Herb Gathering-”

“We don’t need tea,” Zuko says.

“ _And_ I’m bad at herb gathering,” Sokka adds flatly. “So unless we all want to be poisoned, let’s just sit down and get this over with.” 

Zuko removes his knife and stabs it hilt deep into the soil. He then scorches a thin line of black several inches to the side. “When the dagger's shadow reaches the ash,” he says, indicating the burned line, “the opportunity for peace is over.”

“You don’t actually have to be this dramatic,” Sokka mutters sourly. “You have to know that.”

“Okay,” says Aang, smile strained but broad. “Then allow me to offer you a _formal_ invitation to join Team Avatar. You could visit the North Pole with us!” 

“What a gambit."

Zuko ignores the sarcastic aside and answers politely, “No, thank you.” 

“Shocking,” Sokka deadpans. “Not to nitpick, Aang, but _‘Team Avatar_ ?’ He might’ve joined if you’d said _Gaang.”_

Katara lightly elbows her brother. “Can you be serious?”

“Why should I?” He demands, his palpable frustration boiling over. “This whole thing is a _joke_. We’ve already explained what the Fire Nation is doing. We’ve got evidence, first-hand experiences, _and_ common sense on our side. The truth is out there! Zuko is just too busy believing lies and the lying liars who tell them to believe _us_." 

“I believe you.”

“See?” He exclaims, gesticulating wildly. “He refuses to skip the propaganda party! They aren't even _inviting_ him anymore, he just keeps RSV- um, I’m sorry, can you repeat that back for the record, please?”

“I believe you,” Zuko repeats firmly. “I’ve seen enough these last few weeks- these last few _years_ \- to know that the Fire Nation has to change.” The siblings’ eyes widen, and Zuko feels emboldened by their surprise. “Instead of capturing the hearts of our enemies, we captured their towns and encouraged their rebellion. Instead of spreading prosperity, we’ve spread destruction and- _death_.” He swallows, refusing to let a hint of doubt enter his mind. “These aren’t the honorable acts of a nation at war, and these aren't outliers. This disgrace has become the _norm._ I am heir to the Fire Nation. _He_ is the Avatar. Together, we can stop these atrocities from ever happening again." 

Aang nods along supportively, and even Katara seems hopeful.

Sokka leans forward, eyes narrow. “How, exactly?” 

“Someone,” he replies seriously, “has to inform my father.”

“...oh boy.” 

“I understand you don’t like him,” Zuko says, irritated, “but he’s the only one who can deliver the Fire Nation onto a new path.” 

Sokka pinches the bridge of his nose. “And talking to him. That’s your big plan?”

“When he understands what’s happening, he’ll want to stop it.” 

“He _knows_ what’s happened. He _ordered_ what’s happening!”

“He’s surrounded by politicians with their own interests,” Zuko counters reasonably. “Maybe they’ve convinced him these displays of power are warranted, or maybe they’re keeping the truth from him, but if I explain there’s a better way for the Fire Nation to gain control, I know he’ll-”

“Oh, so we’re just signing away the whole world now? No muss, no fuss, the key to Omashu is under the rock?” 

“You’re already losing!” Zuko snaps. “So just make it easy on yourselves and _surrender!_ Negotiate with me and get better terms! My father is an honorable man, he’ll-

“How can you say that with a straight face? He _banished_ you!”

 _“For the good of the country!”_ Zuko shouts back.

Aang’s expression flickers. “Wait-”

“The Fire Lord is a monster,” Sokka insists coldly, “and I’m not letting Aang get anywhere near him until he can beat him up with all four elements. No, _five!_ And if you really think we’re going to surrender to make it easy for ourselves, you obviously haven’t been paying attention. _We do things the complicated way!_ ”

Zuko meets his volume. “If you really cared about peace-!”

“You know what, maybe I _don’t!”_ Sokka shouts. “Maybe I don’t care about world peace or freaky bending or the spiritual balance of the infinite cosmos! Maybe the infinite cosmos can balance itself for once! The world's been at war since way before I was born, and maybe it’ll _still_ be at war long after I’m gone. So _what._ All I care about is making sure the people in my tiny little corner of existence don’t get hurt! And if you bring Aang to your Father, you _know_ what he’ll do!”

“He’ll listen to him!” Zuko roars, and he’s not sure when they both stood, but they both have. 

“Please!” Sokka scoffs. “He doesn’t _care_ that Aang is a _kid_ , he doesn’t _care_ that his troops are destroying the world, and he doesn’t _care_ that you do! He doesn’t care about _you_ , Zuko!” 

“You don’t know my Father!” 

“I know enough!” 

“Guys- the shadow hasn’t hit the ash yet or whatever,” Aang says, hopping to his feet and buzzing with nervous energy. Katara stands, too. She’s lingering on the sidelines of the argument, but Zuko isn’t blind. She’s already popped the cap from her waterskin. 

“I don’t care about the time-knife, Aang!” Sokka snaps. He turns back to Zuko, furious and frustrated. “I just want to help you, Zuko, but it’s like you’re in a _loop._ Every time I think you get it, you just- don’t! You beat up corrupt Fire Nation soldiers, get captured by creepy Fire Nation Admirals, hear all about the Fire Nation’s not-even-exaggerating _evil_ hobbies-”

“That’s not my father!” 

“Plenty of people get to compartmentalize between family and politics,” Sokka counters flippantly, “but not _you_. If the Fire Nation is doing evil stuff, guess what! Your _dad_ -” 

“ _Shut up!_ ” Zuko roars, storming forward until the Water Tribesman is only inches away. His heart is pounding and his blood is boiling and he feels like he’s about to _explode._ “What do you know about Fire Nation politics? You’re nothing but a snow savage!” 

“Gonna turn me into slush?” Sokka wonders mockingly.

“Don’t _tempt_ me,” Zuko hisses back.

Despite the threats, neither of them actually make a move. Zuko isn’t going to go back on his word of peace, and Sokka presumably has exactly enough sense to not _actually_ fight a trained Firebender. That said, neither of them are willing to back off, either.

“You stay on this path,” Sokka says finally, tone stilted, “you’re going to regret it.” 

“It’s my _destiny_ ,” Zuko hisses back. “And I’m going to fulfill it, one way or another.”

“If your destiny is being a kidnapper with a blind spot the size of the Great Divide, maybe trade in for a new one.” 

“I told you before: that’s not how destiny works.” He narrows his eyes. “And I may have a blind spot, but I can see you just fine.” 

Sokka winces. “Okay, just to be clear, I meant a _figurative_ blind spot, not a _literal-_ ”

“I get it!” Zuko snaps, glaring. 

“Good!” Sokka snaps right back.

“ _Good!”_

“...can we get back to the negotiations?” Aang asks uncomfortably.

“How about this, Zuko,” Sokka offers breezily. “You stay with us a little longer. You write your dad. You tell him all about your plan to save the world through Peace Talks and, if he agrees, we choose a nice, neutral spot for negotiations, like the North Pole.” 

Zuko's father hasn’t replied to a single letter in three years. He's not sure he even _reads_ them anymore. Besides, if Zuko _were_ to write such a letter, it would seem as if he were hiding behind a quill instead of taking on the Avatar. He'd be seen as nothing more than the weak, incompetent little coward he was at the Agni Kai. No, if this is to work, he needs to bring Aang to the Fire Nation and explain the situation to his father in person. “No.”

“C’mon,” Sokka groans. “That’s a compromise!”

“It’s a trick,” Zuko retorts, because he's not _stupid._ “You’re _still_ trying to capture me!”

“You’re the one trying to capture _us!”_

“Just the _Avatar!_ You two can go _home!”_

“Aang is our friend, Zuko,” Katara says, calm like the smooth water over a riptide. “He’s family. Where he goes, we go.”

“Fine,” he accepts coldly, tightening his fists. “Then I’ll just capture _all_ of you.” 

Katara shifts into a defensive stance as Sokka removes his boomerang. Aang lingers behind them anxiously. “We really don’t need to do this, guys,” he tries. “No one here actually _wants_ to fight.”

Sokka quickly contradicts him. “I am going to bonk you on the head so hard,” he threatens, “and then I’m going to drag your unconscious body to a day spa where you’ll learn about a little thing called _self-care."_

Zuko glares. He doesn’t know what the threat means, exactly, but there’s probably cultural nuance involved, and that cultural nuance probably makes it devastating. “Try it,” he hisses. The moment they attack, he can fight back. And he _will._

Before Sokka can make his move, however, they hear a horn blaring from the forest. Birds flee the sound as a crash of komodo rhinos march into the clearing. Zuko counts at least a dozen Fire Nation soldiers on their backs, armed to the teeth and outfitted in the latest armor. The leader, a short but meaty man with a face like a rotting gourd, regards the scene. His eyes dart from the huddled fighters, to the giant flying bison, to the boy in bright orange and yellow clothes. And, yes, the tell-tale tattoos. 

“I am Erzhu of the Northern Riders,” he declares without missing a beat, “and under the Authority of Fire Lord Ozai, I demand you surrender the Avatar or be destroyed!” 

“Stand down!” Zuko orders, annoyed, stomping towards him. “You’re interrupting Peace Negotiations held under the gaze of Agni!” 

“Peace negotiations?” Erzhu echoes, frowning at the very angry children still in their fighting stances. 

The soldier behind him regards Zuko doubtfully. “And who are you supposed to be?”

He stands tall _._ “I am Prince Zuko,” he spits, “of the Fire Nation, and I _order_ you to stand down until the negotiations are finished!” And when those fail, they can capture the Avatar under _his_ orders, honorably. 

Erzhu scoffs. “You swindlers should stay a little more informed.” He slides out of his saddle, removing his shortspear the moment his boots hit packed dirt. “Prince Zuko died weeks ago.”

Zuko falters. “What-? No, that’s-” 

The second soldier dismounts. “He cheated some pirates,” she explains pleasantly, “and they finally finished what the Fire Lord couldn’t.” Her smile is slimier than the bottom of the _Wani._ “So you’re either a cheat, a madman, or just a loose end. I don’t think Admiral Zhao cares one way or another, but I doubt he wants you around to cause trouble.” 

“-Zhao?” Zuko repeats dumbly. She throws her first attack before he can even blink, and he barely manages to avoid a new scar. As the remaining soldiers leap into battle against the Avatar's team, his mind reels. 

Zhao actually wanted him _dead?_ Zhao _told_ people he was dead? 

Had they held a traditional funeral for him, despite his banishment? Had Father mourned? Had Uncle? Had anyone helped Azula? Had anyone _known_ to help her? If she cared, that is, if _any_ of them cared- 

The soldier leaps towards him, trails of fire at the heels of her boots. As she kicks, the element follows, and Zuko smells singed hair even as he avoids her next hit. He’s heard of the Northern Riders and had once even relished the idea of meeting them, but he’d always imagined _leading_ them, not _fighting_ them. 

The Riders’ skills weren’t exaggerated; she’s fast and brutal. 

She’s also outmatched. 

He doesn’t evade. He’s too _angry_ to run. He defuses the few blasts that manage to hit him, redirects any that don’t, and shoots streams of red-hot fire until she’s forced into a defensive stance, hands raised to sustain her blazing shield. With Agni at his back, he tears forward. She shifts out of her stance as he draws near, thoughtlessly telegraphing her next move, and he twists his wrist. A brilliant burst of fire explodes in front of her and she cries out in surprise. He slides beneath her frantic, blinded attacks and knocks her off balance. When she sways, he elbows the back of her head and watches with muted satisfaction as she collapses to the ground. 

He looks up.

As expected, the Avatar’s team is holding its own. Katara and Aang are doing most of the heavy-hitting, while Sokka operates as a long-distance fighter relying primarily on speed and luck. Only six of the Northern Riders are still fighting. Erzhu is in a heap on the sidelines, but he’s beginning to stir. Zuko heads towards him, determined to nip the burgeoning threat in the bud, but is accosted before he can reach the cavalry leader. 

It’s a quick fight, comparatively. They’re not a Bender, though they certainly wield their weapon like one. Zuko has just knocked them unconscious when steel glints in his peripheral vision. The shortspear is already soaring from Erzhu’s fingers, spiralling too-fast towards Sokka's back.

“Sokka!” Someone shouts, too late to matter. It might have been him.

Zuko leaps. It’s a long-shot, but he still throws a frantic fire jab, hoping to knock the weapon from its trajectory. Predictably, the spear sails effortlessly through.

He doesn’t really understand what’s happened until he’s on the ground and sees Sokka rushing over to him, conspicuously _un_ stabbed. Comprehension clicks into place, alongside relief and a fair bit of discomfort.

“What is wrong with you!” The Water Tribesman shouts furiously. He positions himself with his back to Zuko, defending against any incoming attacks. “Why would you do that? You’re supposed to _avoid_ sharp things! Do you need a mnemonic?!” 

“You were about to get stabbed!” Zuko hisses back at him, clutching his side as he awkwardly forces himself to stand. It's not the worst pain he's ever been in, not by a longshot, but it's not pleasant. 

“I’ve had _practice!_ I'm _great_ at it!" When Sokka finds that the remaining riders are distracted, he turns back to Zuko, torn between outrage and concern. “Why would you even do that?! You just did a whole speech about how we’re enemies!”

“We _are!”_ Zuko insists raggedly. He rips the weapon from his side, then staggers, abruptly remembering an important and rather obvious piece of advice: _Leave the weapon in._ Always _leave the weapon in._

“Leave that in!” Sokka squeaks, horrified, though it’s obviously too late. He’s nearly as pale as Zuko. _“Why would you do that?”_

Because Zuko has no good answer, he doesn’t reply; he just grits his teeth, presses his hand against his side, and begins to burn. 

Sokka yanks his hand off. “ _Now_ what are you doing!? Can you stop doing insane things for, like, _three_ seconds?!”

“I’m cauterizing it!”

“Cauterizing is the worst! Just let Katara heal you!”

“I _don’t_ need her hel- behind you-!” Zuko warns raspily, and Sokka barely manages to turn in time to deflect the attack. Zuko stumbles away from the fight and towards the edge of the clearing. He sags against the first tree he finds, relying on its support as he resumes cauterizing the wound. It’s a painful process, but graciously brief. His vision swims, and when he can see again, he’s sunk down to the base of the tree, his legs splayed out in front of him. He scrambles to his feet and charges back into the fray.

Katara is currently fighting two soldiers at once, tendrils of water whipping out at the experienced fighters. They weave through her attacks with ease, flinging long-bladed knives as they do so. She bats these away as best she can, though one knife skims past her Waterbending and nearly strikes her. It’s a formidable challenge, and enough of a distraction that she doesn’t notice the soldier creeping up behind her with a sharpened battle axe. Zuko releases a barrage of fireballs towards the rider. While they manage to avoid the brunt of the damage, they’re still pushed back several feet. 

Katara notices the attack first, the attacker second. “Zuko?”

Sokka, after twisting Erzhu's helmet around backwards and _clanging!_ his boomerang against the metal as if it were a bell, notices next. “Zuko, just sit _down_ and avoid being crazy! Let us handle this!”

Aang, fresh from Airbending two soldiers to the top of a tree and leaving them there, notices last. “Uh, is Zuko okay?” 

He ignores them all and charges onward, never slowing down his assault, fireball after fireball and then a few flameless hits to keep Katara’s attacker off balance- and then he throws every last ounce of rage he has as a torrential wave of fire. They collapse back into the shrubberies, the weeds around them catching fast.

Zuko stumbles, but he still twists to face the remaining few soldiers, continues to fight until every inch of him burns hot, until the fire is as easy as breathing, until he’s suddenly on his knees and his vision is blurring black- 

“-uko!” 

He blinks and there are a pair of bolas right in front of his eyes, encased in ice, and he _blinks_ , and there are no soldiers left, and he _blinks_ , and he’s surrounded by frazzled faces, and he _blinks,_ and he’s being hoisted up into the saddle. 

One moment he’s fighting in a clearing, and the next he’s shivering beneath gray clouds. 

“- _nd_ Zuko had both beat Zhao,” Sokka is saying somewhere to his left. Someone in that general direction is also holding his hand. “Which, looking back, honestly makes me feel a little stupid.” 

“Stupid means amazing,” Zuko slurs sleepily, because he’s heard that somewhere, and suddenly he’s being crushed on all sides- he can hardly _breathe-_ and it doesn’t _hurt_ exactly, but it’s a _lot-_

“What was that?” He manages to wonder, blinking blearily around at the relieved faces. 

“That was a you-almost-died-saving-my-brother hug,” Katara explains, smiling wetly. 

“You should know grateful hugs are gateway hugs,” Sokka notes. “She won’t stop.” 

“Sokka,” she chides. She smiles at Zuko unapologetically. “He’s not wrong.” She holds his right hand in her own. He has no free hands left, he thinks dumbly. “We’re so glad you’re okay, Zuko.”

“I don’t understand,” he mumbles. His head feels so thick, his thoughts as slow and clumsy as a baby snail sloth. “What’s happening?” 

“You’re on Appa,” she tells him, beginning, apparently, with the only obvious part. “You were stabbed. Do you remember that?” She waits, so he nods. “You cauterized the wound _and_ kept fighting, so healing it has been a little complicated, but you’ll be okay once we arrive.” 

“Not too much longer,” Aang adds, waving towards something Zuko can’t see from his prone position. “Appa is flying as fast as he can. According to Sokka's map, we should be there any minute now!” 

“Be where?” Zuko demands, trying to sit up. “We had a deal. I didn’t convince you _or_ defeat you, so you were supposed to leave me by-” _the mountains._ He stares at his surroundings, horrified. There’s nothing. Nothing for miles. Nothing but the ocean, and the occasional “-iceberg?” He manages. Is he dreaming again? Did he die? Is this the spirit world? 

“We’re almost to the North Pole,” Katara explains, gently pushing him back down. “You need to rest.” 

He squirms free of her light hold, scrambling to the edge of the saddle. “You really did it,” he breathes, aghast. He can’t even see a hint of the Earth Kingdom coastline, no matter what direction he checks. “You’re actually trying to _kidnap_ me.” 

“A),” says Sokka, “we’re _succeeding_ in kidnapping you. B), we're not kidnapping you.” 

“You were seriously hurt, Zuko,” Katara says, nodding down to his side. “I'm doing as much as I can now, but it was obvious you needed an _experienced_ healer. We couldn't leave you behind. And you said yourself the best healers in the world are Waterbenders!”

“No one in the North Pole will _heal_ me,” Zuko snaps at her, furious and inching towards terrified. Are they _morons?_ Or do they actually want him dead and they’re just taking the most convoluted path they can? “They want to _kill_ me.” 

“They won’t hurt you,” Sokka promises, “and if they try, we’ll hurt _them._ ”

Katara nods. “That’s what friends do.” 

“We are _not_ friends!” Zuko snaps, beyond impatient with this game. “I will _not_ -”

“Look,” Sokka interrupts breezily, “if you want, we can all listen to your very intimidating monologue about how much you hate us and want to fight us and how you don't even _like_ my puns _._ We’ll nod along and maybe even clap if it’s an inspired performance, or if you do a cool accent. But you almost died saving my life, so excuse us if we don’t _believe_ a word of it.”

“I-” Zuko falters. “I tripped.”

“Feel free to try again,” Sokka offers.

Zuko does. “I wanted to kill you _myself_.” 

Sokka tents his fingers, nods thoughtfully, then shakes his head, “Nope, sorry, not buying it.” 

“It was an accident! I wasn’t _thinking!”_

“See, this? This adds up. Because I am a strong, independent Water Tribe Warrior, and I don’t need any Fire Nation Prince to save me!” 

“Yes, you _did_ ,” Zuko argues, bristling. “You would’ve died!” 

“I would’ve _swerved_.”

“Right into a _spear_ ,” Zuko agrees flatly, crossing his arms and refusing to wince when it sends fractals of pain cascading. 

“So you _were_ worried.”

“No, I wasn’t! Jin told me not to let you get stabbed again!”

“Worried,” Sokka continues, as if he hadn’t said a word, “for your dear friend and beloved older brother-” 

“You’re _not_ my older brother!” Zuko shouts, and this time Katara notices the wince.

“You, lay back down,” she orders Zuko. “And _y_ _ou,”_ she scolds Sokka, “stop baiting him. You know he gets worked up.”

“I do _not!”_

“Sorry,” she tells him, flashing a brief smile. “My mistake.” She presses soothing hands against his side, and he relaxes involuntarily as the pain recedes to a cool, tingly numbness. He realizes he’s half asleep just in time to avoid falling _fully_ asleep. “You can rest,” she tells him, noticing the struggle. “We’ll wake you if anything happens.” 

“’m not tired,” he grumbles, and then his eyes are closed. 

“I know,” she assures. Then, hours later or maybe only seconds, “I think he’s asleep again.”

“See what I mean? He’ll save your life and then call you a dirty rotten liar if you mention it. What a jerk.” He sighs. “Anyway. He said he’d been in more than one. And, later, when we escaped, I overheard the guards trying to get a rise out of him, saying he hadn’t fought.”

“With Zhao?” Katara clarifies, and her hands are back at Zuko’s side, lulling him deeper into the pleasant purgatory. “Why would he lie about that?”

“Not Zhao,” the other voice dismisses, melding with the first. Zuko can’t understand the words anymore, only hears them, and even then the voices wander in and out as he toes the thin line between wakefulness and sleep. 

“-zon said they only happen once in a lifetime,” someone says, at some point. 

“-don’t actually think,” worries another voice. 

“-ust seems like _someone_ wants him dea-” 

“-ose soldiers said. It’s not just Zhao. It’s his-” 

The words dissolve into meaningless sounds and syllables, nothing but a bedtime story. He’s too old for stories, he wants to complain, but the voices carry on and on anyway, soft and distant and warm, and so his breathing slows and his head grows heavy and he falls deep asleep, the best sleep he’s had in years.

It’s dreamless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The subtle kidnapping has turned less subtle. Next chapter: interventions, tragic backstories, and a lot of angry yelling from people who aren't Zuko (although, okay, he does his fair share).


	11. The Blast from the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally started grad school, and reading all of your amazing comments/speculations was a huge motivation to do this instead of what I should be doing. Thank you for that, your patience, and for getting this far!

Zuko lingers outside of the door. The meeting has already begun, and he should be inside, but he can’t seem to make his feet move. The guards keeping watch never take their eyes off of him, and he knows how he must look. He knows how he feels. 

He’s weak. He’s too weak to do this. He needs to leave. 

“You don’t have to freak out,” Sokka says, hand on Zuko’s shoulder. It’s a show of support, but it feels more like an anchor. “I’m right here with you.”

“I’m going to mess this up,” Zuko tells him. His hands are trembling. “I’m going to say something wrong.” 

“Hm.” Sokka mulls this over. “What if you just stayed quiet? Maybe I could talk for you this time.” 

“That’s not how it works,” Zuko counters. 

“Yeah,” Sokka admits, bobbing his head. “Probably not.” He shrugs. “Well, we can’t keep them waiting forever. C’mon, buddy. Let’s go in.”

“I don’t want to,” Zuko denies, stepping back slightly. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Are you serious?” He asks, frowning. “You begged me to bring you!”

“I was wrong,” Zuko insists, voice breaking. “I was wrong. I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this.” 

“You already have,” Uncle dismisses as he nods for the doors to be opened. 

A dozen generals turn their heads in unison. Their faces are shadowed blurs, but Zuko can feel their contempt wavering in the air like heat. “At last,” says a familiar voice, rough and unamused. The fire surrounding the room burns hotter. Zuko is sweating, but he’s also shivering, and stepping through the entryway feels like dragging his feet through sand. He sits in his rightful place and doesn’t say a word. Father regards him thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time.”

Zuko doesn’t speak. He knows if he speaks, something bad will happen. 

“How does the search for the Avatar go, my son?”

Zuko opens his mouth to answer, then remembers himself. 

“Are you still loyal, Zuko?”

He nods. 

“Are you certain?”

He nods again. He’s telling the truth. His pulse races as if he were lying.

“I heard he was traveling with the Avatar,” comments one of the shadow-faced Generals.

“I heard he fought against his own soldiers,” adds another. 

“I heard,” finishes Uncle gravely, “he doubts the word of his own Father.”

Zuko leaps to his feet. “No, I-!” Every empty face turns to him, and it’s too late now to stay silent, and so he does what he always does and he yells even though he knows no one will hear. “I am your loyal son! I would- I would never betray you, I’m only trying to help!” 

Father stands, and they’re no longer in the war room, and Zuko is no longer able to say a single word. He tries as he always tries, but his voice comes out in soundless rasps. He scrambles back, but there’s nowhere to go. The crowd surrounds him on all sides, cheering and jeering, indistinguishable but for one, louder than anyone else, laughing their same obnoxious laugh.

“Sokka-!” Zuko manages, because he needs help and Sokka helps, but then Sokka is just Uncle again, and Zuko knows this is going to end as it always will.

“Stand and fight,” Father orders, but Zuko is too weak to move at all, and he’s on his knees, trying to beg without a voice, and the crowd is gone, it’s just his Father and fire, and then even his Father is gone, and it’s just Zuko all alone, burning on and _on_ -

“-hear me, Zuko? You’re okay!”

Zuko's eyes spring open. His breathing is ragged and his heart is pounding, and it makes no sense, but he sees “Sokka?”

“Yeah,” agrees the teen, sounding exhausted but relieved. “It’s me, buddy.”

Had Sokka gotten him out? How? “Where am I?”

“North Pole,” he answers. “You’re safe.” 

Zuko frowns as he scans his unfamiliar surroundings. He’s in a small square room made entirely of- ice? No wonder he’s so cold. He’s also covered in thick blankets. That’s probably why he’s so hot. He tries to shake off the strange confusion, but his head blares a warning the moment he shifts. “I don’t understand,” he says, tongue fat and dry. “How did we get out? How are you alive?”

“You saved my life, buddy." Sokka's eyes crease in concern. "Do you remember that?”

Zuko doesn’t. How had he saved Sokka’s life? Sokka was in the crowd. Sokka was _safe_. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate. “I don’t understand,” he repeats, frustrated.

“We flew through the night,” Sokka explains patiently. “Katara kept you alive until they found us, and then you were brought right to their healers. They’re-” He hesitates, then begins again, “You’ve got a pretty bad fever, but you should be through the worst of it soon. As someone who had to suck _frogs_ last time he was sick, trust me: you’ve got it easy.” He retrieves a small pitcher from the ground. “Thirsty?”

Zuko nods even as he tries to separate reality from dreams. The memories are lumbering back into place. He’d jumped in front of Sokka and gotten a shortspear in the side for his trouble. But there was more. He was... angry. 

Sokka holds the cup out to him as the pieces slot together. “Zuko?”

“I’m a prisoner," Zuko says tiredly. "Aren't I?"

“...a little, yeah. But," he continues quickly, "Aang and Katara are explaining everything to the council right now. You’ll be upgraded to the royal suite in no time.” 

Zuko frowns. “Shouldn’t you be there?”

“I’ve got better places to be,” Sokka replies cryptically. He lifts the cup again, and this time Zuko accepts it. The cold water invigorates him and he sits forward, ignoring both Sokka’s protests and the room’s sudden insistence on spinning. 

“So do I,” he declares. “I’m leaving.” 

“There are one or two minor things stopping you,” Sokka notes.

Zuko forces himself to his feet. His limbs feel a strange combination of heavy and untethered. He manages to avoid wobbling through sheer determination. Sokka would catch him if he fell, and he'd _never_ live it down. “If you think you can stop me,” he snipes, glaring, “you’re overestimating just how painful your company is.”

“Oh, har har. Someone’s grumpy when they’ve lost all their blood.”

“I have plenty of blood!” He snaps. “How do you think blood works?!”

Sokka ignores him. “Zuko, just stay put for now. You're _extremely_ stabbed, you've got a weird spear fever I don't understand, and _, well_ -" He winces, "you don’t want to be outside of this room right now.”

Zuko stops, awkwardly listing where he stands. “Explain.”

“They’re a little uncomfortable having the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation in their city,” Sokka explains reluctantly, “and so there are one or two folks who might act on impulse if they see you stomping around, all _Firebender-like_.” 

He whirls around furiously, almost falling over in the process. “I told you-!” He cuts himself off and forces himself to breathe. Sokka will respond to reason. “They aren’t going to heal me," he grits out. “They want me dead. If you _don’t_ , you need to get me out of here!”

“I’m telling you, you’re safe,” Sokka insists, exasperated. “If they wanna stay on the Avatar's good side, they're _going_ to help you. Besides, look around! How am I getting you out? You’re in an ice cube. No doors, no windows, only Benders in and out. Sorry if my impeccable acting at the Fortress fooled you, but I’m not _actually_ a Bender.” 

“You could find a way out,” Zuko accuses.

“Maybe. But then what? We’re in the middle of the North Pole. Is your plan just: _wander out into the frozen tundra?”_

“Yes,” Zuko snaps, just to be difficult. 

“With a stab wound and a fever?”

_“Yes."_

“Then I will politely decline this prison break, thanks.”

“Fine," Zuko hisses. "I don’t _need_ your help.”

“Good, because it’s already been denied.” Sokka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, will you lie back down? I can hear your teeth chattering.” 

It’s probably hyperbole, but Zuko still clenches his jaw to avoid any such noise. 

He rolls his eyes. “Y'know, not many good escape plans start with _die_.”

Because he's cold, and not because Sokka has a point, Zuko stalks back to the bed and huddles beneath the blankets. He glares out over his many layers and hisses, “Leave.”

Sokka frowns. “What?”

“I said leave,” Zuko repeats, brooking no denial.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Sokka counters uncertainly. “You’re sick. I want to help.”

“If you won’t help me leave,” Zuko replies flatly, “help by _leaving_.” 

“You’re not thinking straight,” Sokka decides. “This fever is-”

“I’m not delirious,” Zuko interrupts, aggravated. “For once, I know exactly what’s happening. You captured me! Why would I want you around?!” 

“You saved my life!” Sokka rejoins absurdly. 

“Just because I don’t want you to die doesn’t mean I _forgive_ you!” His head pounds as he yells, and so he yells slightly louder to drown out the drumming. “You lied to me- you never _listened_ to me! You’re not listening right _now_!” 

Sokka opens his mouth to argue, but then the energy drains away. He slumps like a marionette who’d taken up knife juggling. “You’re right.”

Zuko blinks, surprised. When Sokka doesn't say anything else, he nudges, “...What?”

“You’re right,” Sokka repeats, beginning to pace. “I made a mistake and I’m not sure what I _should_ have done, but I know what I did was-” He falters, “unfair?”

“Life isn’t fair,” Zuko remarks, caught off guard and trying to maintain his anger. 

“Friendship should be,” Sokka counters. “I saw you being manipulated and my solution to the problem was more manipulation. I saw you being lied to and my solution was lying. I saw that you were hurt-”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Zuko interrupts, scowling.

Sokka doesn’t reply. He slows his steps and stares down at his shoes. “I broke your trust,” he says finally. "You were a good friend, and I was a _bad_ one, and it wasn't all lies, obviously, but enough of it was, and I had my reasons, and I still think my reasons are _justified_ and so I'm not gonna apologize for _that_ , and I'm definitely not going to apologize for bringing you _here,_ even if it's awkward, because you would have _died,_ but I _am_ sorry about everything _else,_ and I'm sorry that- that-” He breaks off, clearly at a loss for words. For someone like Sokka, Zuko thinks, this is probably a strange sensation. 

As someone routinely without the right words, Zuko can sympathize. “Fine.”

Sokka frowns up at him. “What?”

“Fine,” Zuko repeats. He shifts deeper into his blankets. “I get it.”

"You get it?"

"I get it," Zuko confirms. It wasn't Sokka's fault anyway. Zuko shouldn't have fallen for it. Of course they'd try to manipulate him into joining their side. Sokka never wanted to harm him. He just wanted a tactical advantage. It was...logical. 

Zuko can understand that. He can.

“...Thanks." Sokka hesitates. “I’m sorry about...not listening. I can go, if you want.” 

Zuko really doesn’t want Sokka here, but he’d prefer even less a visit from some homicidal Waterbender. “You can stay,” he allows grudgingly, lying back down, “but we’re still not friends.” 

"I'll take it," Sokka accepts, sounding relieved. "I _really_ don't like the idea of you being alone. You’re more lucid now than you were earlier, with Appa-”

“With Appa.”

Sokka winces. “You don’t want to know, probably.”

Zuko decides to trust his judgement. “Fine.” He yanks the nearest blanket up to his shoulders as forcefully as he can. As the adrenaline of the confrontation slips away, exhaustion weighs down his every limb. He feels as if he could fall asleep in seconds, and he struggles against the impulse to do just that. “But I want answers.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “I can do that.” 

“... And you don’t lie to me anymore,” Zuko adds, pressing his luck. 

“Okay." There's no argument or hesitation. Zuko is content to believe it until he's awake enough to know better.

He swallows a yawn and tries to focus. He needs answers. Something that could help him escape. “How did we get here?” 

Sokka sits back down beside the bed in a sprawl. “They found us just outside the city. At first, they thought we were attacking, but after we explained everything- y'know, ' _we're from the Southern Water tribe, this is a giant flying bison, he's a twelve-year-old Avatar who's been missing for a hundred years, he's a stabbed Fire Nation Prince, and that's a lemur_ '- they were just confused. You weren't in great shape, so we came straight here.” Zuko’s eyes drift shut and Sokka’s volume lowers. “They said they'd help, but that you needed to be...supervised. They usually use this room for quarantining patients, but add a couple guards and it's high-security, I guess. They sent in one of their healers, this girl named Kori, and she took a look at your side.”

“‘s healed?”

“...Not yet,” Sokka answers. “But soon."

When Zuko shivers, another blanket is pulled over his shoulders and he melts into the soft mattress. It’s almost warm enough to sleep. He shouldn’t sleep in enemy territory, he knows, but as Walrus describes a city made of snowflakes and waterfalls, he drifts off anyway. 

\----

“-etter. We had an actual conversation earlier.” 

“That’s good,” a quiet voice replies, and Zuko skirts wakefulness. “Do you think he’d be up to a visit?”

“He’s still pretty angry,” Sokka answers. “But mostly at me. He’d probably be happy to see you. You saved his life, after all.” 

“I’d rather be dead with honor than alive and imprisoned,” Zuko grumbles, sitting forward. His mouth is so dry. 

“Well, that’s just a flawed line of thinking,” Sokka decides, stretching out his back as he stands. “I’m gonna go eat more seal jerky than any sane man should. Katara, please keep him from stabbing anyone with icicles.” As he approaches the wall, the ice melts away to create an oval opening, and Zuko is given a brief glimpse outside of his cell: a long narrow hall guarded by a half dozen Water Tribe warriors who eye him as if he were rotting durian. 

Then the ice reseals itself, and it’s just Katara and Zuko, alone.

She fidgets before he does. “How are you feeling?”

“Annoyed,” he answers, before ordering in his most imperial tone, because it's worth a shot, “Release me.”

She raises an eyebrow. _“Excuse me?”_

“Bend down the wall,” he elaborates flatly, “and release me. You have no right to keep me here. We made a deal. ” 

“You were stabbed,” she stresses. “You're _sick_. If I let you out right now, you’ll start a fight with every Waterbender you find. I didn’t keep you alive for _ten hours straight_ just so you could die in the stupidest, most _stubborn_ way possible.” 

Zuko narrows his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t _have_ to,” she responds, crossing her arms.

They scowl at each other for a few moments. This time, Zuko fidgets first. “Fine,” he grumbles. “ _Thankyou_.”

She softens. “Of course. Water?”

Zuko considers denying just to have some small measure of control over his quickly-collapsing life, but shakes the impulse off. He’s too thirsty. “Fine.” She pours him a cup and he sips it slowly.

She lingers by the wall. "How are you feeling?" 

_Awful_ , he thinks, simultaneously too hot and too cold, with a pounding headache and a cough lodged in the back of his throat. But he'd be dead if Katara hadn't intervened. "Fine." He shifts. “Is the North what you expected?” 

“It’s more, " she says, brightening, and a tension he hadn't noticed eases. "The things they do with Waterbending-! It’s _amazing_. As soon as you’re better, Aang and I will take you on the grand tour!”

He takes another sip, not commenting on the low likelihood of his ever getting out of here. “Has he found a Master yet?” 

“He's meeting with Master Pakku now,” she confirms, "and starting his training first thing in the morning." 

He frowns at the phrasing. "And you?"

She shifts a shoulder. “I’ll join him soon. I’m going to start with healing." She smiles kindly. "I want to make sure you're okay, first." 

“You don’t have to do that,” Zuko grumbles, well-aware of how eager she’d been to learn new fighting techniques. 

“I want to,” she retorts. “Besides, we both know you’re going to break out of here the first opportunity you get. I’d rather you could defend yourself when you do. Or at least stand upright,” she amends, grinning as he bristles.

“I wouldn’t have to escape if you hadn’t _captured_ me,” he reminds her, scowling. 

“We didn’t _capture_ you. We saved your _life_.”

“I’m in a prison cell!”

“Think of it more as a clinic for difficult patients,” she suggests. “Once you stop trying to run away from the people _helping_ you, maybe you can be trusted with a door.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re mocking me.”

“A little,” she admits. Her teasing tone turns sympathetic. “Look, I know you’re frustrated, but as soon as they understand you're not a threat, you'll be moved to the regular healing wing. It won't be long, I promise. Aang and I have already explained everything to Chief Arnook and the council and I’m sure-”

“You’re wasting your time,” he interrupts flatly. “Even if the Avatar doesn’t see me as a hostage, they will. They’ll try to use me against my Father. And when that fails, they’ll kill me.”

Her face shadows at that. She opens her mouth, but then her jaw clicks shut again. “Well,” she says, “we’ll try to avoid that.” Before he can question the reaction, she continues, “Look, if you can’t trust them, trust _me_. ”

He scowls, unimpressed by the banal sincerity after a week of lying. “Why should I?”

“Because I care about you, Zuko,” she replies, exasperated. “What can I do to prove that to you?” 

“Leave.”

She blinks, startled by his immediate dismissal, then nods. “Okay,” she agrees slowly. “I can do that. But please try to get some rest. You'll never get better if you don't give yourself the opportunity to heal. And if you need me-”

“I won’t." 

\----

When he’s certain she’s gone, Zuko stands from the bed. His head swims, but he can deal with that later. Right now, he needs to get out of here. He may not be as clever as Sokka, but he knows one thing: fire _melts_ ice.

Once he’s out, he'll- he'll find a soldier’s outfit. He'll blend in and hopefully find a boat, or maybe Appa would help him- and then he’ll contact Father, somehow, and-

And he won’t be here.

He faces the wall opposite to where Katara had left, shifts into his offensive stance, curls his hands into tight fists, and throws a punch so powerful he nearly falls forward. 

There’s a lackluster _crack!_ , more smoke than heat, and then he does fall, slamming his elbow against the hard packed snow, the semi-healed wound on his side screaming at his bad choices. He stays there for a moment, stunned.

He hasn’t struggled with fire since he was a _child_. 

This... isn’t good. 

\----

He spends the rest of his morning meditating, struggling through a headache and a cough and a newly aggravated stab wound, trying to stoke his inner fire.

It burns somewhere just past his focus, wispy and low.

\----

“So it turns out they don’t have tiger seals here,” Sokka says in lieu of a human greeting.

Zuko, who’d either been meditating really well or snoring, squints open one eye. “Then that’s…?”

“Turtle seal." He hands him the dish. “Comes with its own bowl!”

Zuko frowns down, a little horrified at the shell filled with meat and a strange, salty-smelling broth. “This looks horrible.”

“And it tastes,” Sokka says cheerily, “even _worse_. Turns out Turtle Seal is exactly the wrong mix of gamey and blubbery.” He points at the floating vegetables. “Sea prunes are good, though.” 

Zuko takes a hesitant bite and a shiver of revulsion runs down his spine. “No,” he says, abandoning the spoon to the briny brew. “They’re not.” He sets his jaw. “I refuse to eat this.” 

“Huh. You and Aang _both_ have terrible taste. Can I have it, then?” 

Zuko frowns. “What? No. ”

“C’mon, you just said you weren’t gonna eat it,” Sokka argues, reaching for the bowl with wriggling fingers. “Don’t be shellfish!"

“You’re not funny!” Zuko accuses, mouth full, spooning up every last awful sea prune before they can be stolen. It’s an acceptable sacrifice for the minor victory. 

“Fine,” Sokka sniffs, drawing back. “See if I visit you again.”

“I’d rather you _didn’t_ ,” Zuko retorts, sourly taking another bite. Once you get over the brackish taste and disturbing plating, it isn’t that bad. Cook had made worse, during the tail-end of a long cruise between ports. “What are you even doing here?”

“I wanted to check in on you,” Sokka says, gauging Zuko’s condition. “You look better,” he decides. “Healer been by yet?” Zuko shakes his head, mouth too full to answer. “They should be by soon, then. I just met with Chief Arnook again, and he- he said they would be.” He lingers where he stands, eyes darting around the small cell despite that there’s very little to see. “You’re getting rest, though? Sleeping?”

“I’ve done nothing _but_ sleep,” Zuko grumbles into his soup. It doesn't help that he's still _exhausted_.

Sokka bobs his head in acknowledgement, but doesn’t actually reply.

Zuko frowns. “What. ” 

The other man startles at his tone, then hesitates. “I wanted to talk.”

“So talk,” Zuko directs flatly, eyes narrow. This can’t be good. 

Sokka nods, but still hesitates before doing so. “When we were in jail,” he begins finally, “you mentioned the Water Tribe. You said that we attacked without honor.” 

Zuko hesitates because Sokka is hesitating. “...So?”

“My Dad is my hero,” he says instead of explaining. “He’s who I’ve wanted to be my entire life. All I wanted to do was go with him and fight when he and the other men left to join the war, but he said I was too young.” He starts to pace. Zuko watches, unsure where this is going. The soup shell sits forgotten in his lap, radiating a mild warmth through the blankets. “When I think about him, I think about him that way. And maybe him being gone has made me remember him as even better than he was. Distance does that, you know,” he adds, glancing at Zuko. “Makes you remember things as better than they were.”

Zuko waits, unimpressed. 

“Anyway,” the Water Tribesman continues, pacing a little faster now, “at the jail, you talked about us like we were the bad guys. And that was- hard to think about? And I could explain it away as war then, because it _is_ war, and I could tell myself that it was fine you felt that way, because you’re Fire Nation. But if I’m being honest, it made me uncomfortable to think that my Dad could be... the bad guy, in someone's story. In someone like _Lee’s_ story.” 

Zuko waits for more, but that seems about it. “Why are you telling me this?”

Sokka's expression, like his tone, is almost discomfiting in its earnestness. “Because I _understand_ wanting to believe the best about the people we respect."

Zuko scowls. “You’re not subtle.”

Sokka shrugs and sits beside him on the bed. "I'm not trying to be subtle, here. I tried before, and you see how well _that_ worked out.” 

“You’re not the one in a cell.” 

Sokka gestures around himself. “I mean, _technically_.” 

“You know what I mean,” Zuko grumbles, irritation fading in the face of the familiar, stupid humor. Sokka absentmindedly runs his fingers across the coarse white fur of one of the blankets, brushing the strands askew until there’s a small river of off-gray running through its center. He's strangely quiet, and so it's Zuko who breaks the silence. "...did Chief Arnook say anything else?"

"Nothing new," Sokka answers, frustrated. Before Zuko can question this, he glances up and asks, “Does your Uncle have kids?”

Zuko blinks, puzzled by the tangent. “Yes? I mean, he did. He had a son. Lu Ten.”

“What was he like?”

“Is this going somewhere?”

Sokka shifts. “I’m curious about something.”

“You’re always curious about something,” Zuko mutters. He doesn’t actually mind answering. Lu Ten was once a large part of his life, but the day he learned he died was the day Zuko’s mother disappeared and his entire world changed. It made mourning sloppier than he might have liked. “He was kind,” he says finally. “He always made time for me, even though I was just a dumb kid.” He smiles slightly as a warm memory bubbles to the surface, something he hasn’t thought of in years. “When I was struggling with a basic set Azula had already mastered, he found me practicing in my room. I was frustrated, and complained that I’d never be a great Firebender. He laughed, and said he’d never be one, either. He wasn’t,” Zuko adds, realizing Sokka may not know. “A bender, I mean. But he was a talented swordsman. And so he handed me a sword and took me out to the courtyard. We practiced for hours. And the next day, he _kept_ training me.

“After a few months, he suggested I learn from Master Piando. Uncle arranged it, and Father even allowed it.” His smile dims. “He went with Uncle to Ba Sing Se. Insisted on fighting with the soldiers. He didn’t want special treatment just because he was going to be Fire Lord some day.” His gaze drops. “My Uncle stopped the campaign the day he fell.” 

“He sounds like a good man." 

“He was,” he agrees wistfully. Life back then feels so removed from his life now, like a pleasant dream he might forget if he isn’t careful. Even just talking about Lu Ten makes something stiff in him unclench, a reminder that that life _existed_. Whenever his name is mentioned, Uncle grows distant; those moments make Zuko feel like an invader. A usurper. Being able to discuss him with a stranger is pleasant, even if Zuko can’t exactly pinpoint why. 

After a long silence, Sokka wonders, “Did your Uncle ever get angry with him?”

Zuko huffs out a laugh. “With Lu Ten? Why would he? He never did anything wrong.”

“He must’ve at some point,” Sokka argues genially.

Zuko shrugs. “I guess. I’m sure Uncle punished him with proverbs and long games of pai sho.” The thought amuses him. “No wonder he never did anything wrong.” 

Sokka snorts. 

Zuko glances at him, puzzled. “That’s all you wanted to know?”

“Yeah.” Sokka hesitates. “No,” he amends then, almost reluctantly. “One last question.”

Zuko raises his eyebrows, a silent invitation to continue. 

“...do you think your Uncle would have ever banished him?”

The warm feelings fizzle away. “What is _wrong_ with you?!"

Sokka at least has the decency to look abashed. “I just-” 

“Leave!” 

"Okay! Okay, I'm going.” He hesitates at the wall, glancing back. “But you’ll think about it?”

Zuko just hunches deeper under his blankets and glares, furious and hurt and strangely ashamed. 

_Of course not_ , he’d thought, in the split second after Sokka’s question. _He loves him._

\----

Firebending should be simple. He's _incensed_.

As it is, he only manages a few useless sparks before his vision swims.

He dreams of a blue dragon that tells him to give in, and a red dragon that urges him to fight.

\----

"...Zuko?"

He jolts awake, bristling as he recognizes Katara through the cobwebs of half-consciousness.

“I’m not here to bother you,” she rushes to say, raising her open palms. “I said I’d give you space, and I will.”

Zuko scowls. She is not, in fact, in the process of giving him space. She is, on the contrary, in his very small room. Not _leaving_.

“I’m only here to observe,” she assures him.

“Observe?” He repeats. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She doesn’t have time to answer. The wall melts away again, revealing an older woman with weathered skin and intricately braided gray hair. She smiles sweetly at Katara, but the expression shifts to something more of a grimace when she regards Zuko. “So,” she says. “ _You're_ Prince Zuko.”

Zuko glares, unimpressed. “And you are?”

“This is Master Yugoda,” Katara introduces, almost giddily. “She’s going to heal you.”

“I’m going to _try_ ,” Master Yugoda corrects. “From what Katara and Kori tell me, you've proven to be some trouble.” She raises up a stool of ice and sits. “Lie back, now,” she directs as she bends water to the tips of her fingers. “The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be finished."

He follows the order jerkily, trying his best to relax despite how awkward he feels. And how _cold_ , when she pushes aside his blankets and pulls up his shirt. Her hands don’t feel like Katara’s. Katara’s were soft, and gentle, and cool like river water. This woman’s hands are knobby, and freezing, and _digging into his ribs._

He refuses to flinch. He’s pretty sure she’s doing it on purpose. 

“Hmm. I see what you mean. Put your hand here,” Yugoda advises, guiding Katara to one particular spot. “Describe what you feel.”

Katara closes her eyes, breathes slow, and then concentrates on the water Yugoda had left on his skin. “It’s- blocked,” she says unsurely. 

“That’s how it felt to me, too,” Yugoda agrees placidly.

"Is it the stab wound?" Katara’s voice veers uncomfortably high. “Did I do something wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “No, no, nothing like that. The physical trauma may have acted as a catalyst, but this is no natural sickness. His spiritual pathways are crooked and clogged. I can sense the injury but I can’t get a proper hold on it. It’s _slippery_. Like trying to catch an axolotl eel with my bare hands.”

Katara removes her fingers, clearly disturbed. “...Will he be okay?”

“Naturally. It will simply take patience,” she assures, dipping her hands into the wall. When she removes them, they're coated in a layer of glowing blue. “The pathways still exist, they're just a bit _twisty_. Of course,” she continues dryly, “it may also be that Firebenders are naturally this way. It would certainly explain their temperaments.” 

He sneers. 

“You’ll need to relax for this,” she informs him.

“I _am_ relaxed,” he hisses.

“This is probably as relaxed as he’s going to get,” Katara confirms awkwardly.

Yugoda hums. “No matter. I’ve cared for more than my share of difficult patients.” Without further warning, her fingers splay out across the inflamed skin. The water is piercing cold, and he can’t hold back a surprised grunt.

“Zuko-!” Katara gasps, moving forward. She seems prepared to push Yugoda off of him.

“I’m fine,” he grits out before she does.

“It’s a little cold,” Yugoda understates masterfully, “but it will help numb the skin while we work.” She shifts slightly to the left, and nods for Katara to join her. “Now to hone the most important skill you’ll ever learn,” she says, winking. “ _Observation_. Waterbending is about adapting. One may reach the deepest oceans through the shallowest of trickling creeks. The paths may not always be obvious, or where _you_ want to go. You must search, and you must be patient. Your friend presents a unique problem, and healing him is therefore very good practice. So watch what I do. Feel where I go. Learn as I learn."

Katara nods, determined, then bends water around her own hands. Zuko stiffens in anticipation, but when she lays them against his skin, the water is pleasantly lukewarm. 

“Observe,” Yugoda directs as his skin tingles. There's a surreal sensation, like breathing underwater during a dream, simultaneously invasive and calming. But then she does something _else_. Zuko seizes beneath the glowing water, short of breath and heart hammering. It’s all he can do to bite down the scream.

It feels like ice _,_ so cold it _burns._

Katara gasps, reeling away, eyes wide as saucers. “Zuko-?!” 

“Don’t worry about him,” Yugoda orders, and the only hint of exertion is the slight unevenness of her tone. “Focus on what I’m doing.”

“But he’s _hurt_ -!”

“Some injuries _must_ hurt before they can properly mend,” Yugoda replies tightly, “like setting a splint. He needs your help now more than your sympathy.” 

Katara hesitates.

“Katara,” Yugoda prods, frowning. _“Focus_.”

“I- of course.” She presses her hands back against his side. They stay there as Zuko lies ramrod stiff for the duration of the healing process, twitching against his skin every time he does. 

Finally Yugoda removes her hands, advises Katara to do the same, and allows Zuko to sit forward. “I’ll have them bring you some more soup,” she decides, regarding his torso critically. “Don’t you ever _eat?”_

“Maybe if you had _food_ here,” he hisses, jerking his shirt down self-consciously.

She purses her lips. “And can you sense your- _Tui and La, what do they call it_ \- your little fire?”

“My _inner_ fire?” He clarifies doubtfully.

"That’s the one," she agrees. "Anything out of the ordinary?”

Zuko swallows. He’s not sure if it’s the temperature of his cell or the sickness, but his inner fire feels twitchy, like a flame caught in fast winds. He wants to ask why that may be. He wants to ask when it will return. Whether it will. “Yes,” he says instead. “It’s fine.” 

She hums, and he can’t tell whether she believes him. Katara, gnawing on her bottom lip like a beaver-mole, almost certainly doesn’t.

“We’re all finished for today,” Yugoda says then.

He blinks, surprised. “I’m healed?” He doesn't _feel_ healed.

“ _For today,"_ she repeats. “What’s wrong with you is more than physical, and I don’t know enough of Firebenders to offer the advice you likely need. The best advice I _can_ give is that you need time and rest.” 

“I’ve _gotten_ re- ”

“Get some more, ” she interrupts flatly. “You’re in a little box with all the excitement of an empty storeroom. Have you really got anything better to do?” She stands, and her make-shift chair melts back into the floor. "Come along, Katara. Let the boy sleep. You and I can review what you've learned today, and discuss what we might try next time."

Katara hesitates. “I’d like to stay for a moment, Master Yugoda.” 

She frowns. "Very well," she allows reluctantly. "I need to speak with Chef Arnook about his progress, anyway. But don't stay long. He needs rest more than he needs to socialize.” She scrutinizes Zuko once more, then departs. 

Katara lingers where she stands. 

Zuko frowns at her, embarrassment over the healing shifting quickly into frustration. “ _What_.”

“Aang says hi,” she announces abruptly. “He came by to visit you earlier, but you were asleep, and now he’s tracking down council members, and so he asked me to pass along his-”

“Hi?”

“His hi,” she agrees.

Zuko swallows a sigh. It’s not her fault her brother is a moron. “You’ve started learning how to heal."

She nods, brightening at the opening. “It’s been amazing so far," she tells him. "And I’ve scheduled my future sessions for the afternoons, so that I can join Aang and Master Pakku in the mornings.”

"You're training with two different Masters at the same time?" He wonders, surprised. 

"I’ve been waiting to learn from a Master my entire life," she explains, seeming to hear his surprise as disapproval. "And we don't have that much time, so anything I want to learn, I need to learn quickly. And I want to learn _everything_.” 

He can certainly sympathize with that. “I remember my first lesson,” he offers as an olive branch. “I spent the whole night thinking about it, waiting for the sun to rise. I was so exhausted, I could barely stand to learn my forms." 

She smiles. “You were that excited?” 

“Terrified,” Zuko admits wryly. “I was sure I'd fail.” 

“I’m a little nervous. Excited,” she adds hastily, “but nervous.” She frowns down at her hands. “When I went to the healing class, every other student was so much younger than me and they knew so much more. I can't imagine what the fighters are going to be like.” 

Zuko perks. He knows the appropriate proverb for this situation. He's heard it a _lot_. “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

She blinks, startled either by the phrase or the slight Uncle accent that had leaked in. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t compare yourself to them,” he explains. “They grew up _surrounded_ by Waterbenders. They’ve got luck. You’ve got _experience_. Everything you know, you’ve learned the hard way. That counts for something.”

She smiles. “Thanks, Zuko." Then, cautiously, "I’ll...let you know how it goes?”

Zuko nods. “I’m sure you’ll do well,” he says, and he means it.

\----

That night, like most nights, Zuko dreams he's alone, burning alive.

\----

“-iculous!” 

The wall doesn’t so much melt as it explodes into snow. Zuko, moments away from slipping back into sleep after his third nightmare of the night, is suddenly very much awake.

He’s also certain he’s about to be murdered. He leaps out of his bed, trips over the blankets tangled around his ankles, and collapses face first into the fresh snow. He’s going to die, he realizes, and then he looks up, and sees it’s not some very loud assassin.

It’s a very loud Katara.

“...Katara?” He manages, confused. Is this another dream? Is he getting sicker?

“Zuko?” Her furious expression flickers into puzzled concern as she helps him to his feet and back to bed. “What were you doing on the floor?”

“What were _you_ doing blowing up walls?!” He parries defensively. His eyes widen. “Are you helping me escape? Did Sokka plan this?”

“What,” she snaps, “girls can’t plan prison breakouts?!”

Yes, Zuko decides. He's asleep. “...You _have_ planned a prison breakout,” he points out.

“Exactly!” She roars. She begins storming around the room, the floor cracking under her every step. If this is an escape plan, it’s convoluted. “What is _wrong_ with them?!”

“Wrong with wh-”

“I can fight! You’ve _seen_ me fight! I’ve beaten _you!”_

“Tha- I mean, _that_ was a team effort- ”

“And it’s not just me! What about Suki?”

“Suki-?”

“Or- or- or _Smellerbee!_ "

“I don’t know what that is-” Zuko tries. 

“Girls can fight!” She finishes, swirling to him, arms crossed and expression daring him to say otherwise.

“I- okay? So?”

“So they won’t let me!”

_“Who?"_

“That ridiculous old man!" She exclaims furiously. " _Pakku_.” From her, the name sounds like a particularly foul curse word. “Aang’s new _Master_.”

“...And he won’t let you fight?” Zuko clarifies unsurely. “Why?”

“Are you not listening?” She demands.

Zuko really isn’t sure. “I think I missed something,” he admits, flinching when she starts to pace again.

“I’m a girl!”

“Yes,” he agrees. This is familiar ground. 

“They refuse to teach women here!”

His head must be foggier than he’d thought. “I thought you were training with Master Yugoda?”

“That’s _healing,”_ she replies dismissively. “Which is apparently all they think women are good for. We’re in the middle of a _war,”_ she snaps. “How stupid do you have to be to cut your own army in half?!”

Zuko, unsure whether or not that was a rhetorical question, offers, “In the Fire Nation, we conscript everyone." 

“Well, _congratulations_ ,” she declares, rolling her eyes. “The Fire Nation isn’t completely evil in exactly _one_ way.”

He knows she’s being sarcastic, but this is more progress than he made over the course of six days of Peace Talks. 

“I just don’t understand how they can even _think_ like that! He called me delicate. _Me_. Do I look delicate to you?!”

Zuko stares up at the very sweaty, very angry, very shouty Waterbender. “No,” he answers honestly. 

She seems to register his blatant befuddlement for the first time. “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head with a rough sigh. Her tone is calmer, but no less miserable. "I don't mean to yell at _you._ I just- I don’t understand. This is our sister tribe. This is our _culture._ Back home, we didn’t have women fighters, but I never really thought about it, outside of splashing Sokka whenever he was being stupid. We only had so many people, and _I_ was the only Waterbender." She sits beside him on the bed, staring at her hands as she speaks. Her thumb skims the meat of her palm absentmindedly. "I just assumed it was different when there were more of us. But there are so _many_ people here, so many _Waterbenders,_ and grown men are acting like the pettiest, most insecure version of my 16-year-old brother.” 

When it’s been quiet too long, he asks, “What are you going to do?”

“What _can_ I do? I can't risk upsetting the Council right now, and Aang _has_ to train with Pakku, even if he _is_ a mean old jerk with a superiority complex and a- _a stupid beard_." Her anger fizzles into disappointment. "I'll keep training with Master Yugoda. I have to do my part to end this war, even if it's not what I might have expected that part to be." 

Zuko considers. "I'm too tired to bend right now," he says carefully, "but...I could walk you through some more Firebending forms?"

She grins. 

\----

“Zuko.”

Zuko doesn’t stop meditating.

“ _C’mon_. I told you, I’m sorry about before-” 

Zuko opens his eyes because no one appreciates a closed-eye glare. 

“I'm just here to talk," Sokka insists. " _Casually_."

Zuko feels marginally better after his healing session, but he knows how pathetic he must look. He glares harder to compensate.

“Okay! Okay. I’ll... just be going then.” But he doesn’t. He loiters. _Nervously._

Zuko frowns. Had the Council written his Father? Had they demanded his execution? “...What happened.” 

“No, no, it’s _fine_. You’re busy brooding. I can come back later.” 

Zuko swallows, relieved. If Sokka is acting like this, he's only here for something stupid. “Fine. I don’t care anyway.” 

“Fine,” he echoes childishly. “I didn’t need your advice anyway.”

He narrows his eyes. “Advice?”

Sokka begins to pace. “Like I said, I don’t even need it. What would you even know about it? Why am I even asking you?”

Zuko hates that he’s curious, but he’s never seen Sokka this worked up. And he _had_ said it wasn't war-related... " _What_ are you asking me?”

“Okay. Okay.” Sokka turns, fingers tented and expression serious. “There’s this girl.”

“A girl,” Zuko repeats doubtfully. What is it with the North and girls?

“A _Princess_."

He frowns, starting to get the picture. “Are you in danger?” 

Sokka considers the question, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. Love _is_ one of the most dangerous battles we young warriors must fac-”

“Sokka,” Zuko interrupts. “What are you talking about.”

“The Princess!” Sokka exclaims. “ Yue! I bumped into her last night, after I finished bugging her dad, and she-” He resumes pacing. “She’s got these eyes that are- _so_ blue. You think you've seen blue before? That's _nothing_. And her hair- her smile! Her _laugh_ -!” He gestures frantically. “She’s amazing! ”

Zuko feels as he’s felt often over the past few weeks: so out of his depth he doesn't even know which direction is _up_. “So she’s amazing. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is- I’m just me! And she’s a Princess!"

"Technically, you're sort of a Prince," Zuko offers. 

"Well, there's no _technically, sort of_ with Yue, and I made a complete idiot out of myself!”

“So...talk to her again and don’t be an idiot?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Sokka demands. “I _am_ an idiot!” 

“You’re good with people,” Zuko charges instead of arguing the point.

“ _People_ , yes. Not- not _girls_. Not _Yues_. ” He groans, dragging his hands down his face. “I invited her to do an _activity_ with me.”

Zuko frowns. You’re _supposed_ to invite people to do activities with you if you like them. “What about that Kyoshi warrior you’re always talking about?” He challenges instead of admitting his confusion. “You talked to _her_.” 

“Suki?” Sokka collapses face-first onto Zuko’s bed, muffling his voice into the blankets. “Ugh, I miss Suki.” He rolls around onto his back and stares forlornly up at his prisoner. “I wooed her through a careful combination of misogynism, dress-wearing, and fan fighting. You can’t use the same old tricks on a brand new girl.” He groans dramatically. “You've gotta help me, Zuko. You’re my only hope.”

Zuko huffs. “That can’t be true.”

“What does Aang know about dating?” Sokka retorts. “He’s twelve. I don’t think he’s even _noticed_ girls yet. And Katara? Katara is-” He makes a face, “my _sister_. I don’t want to talk to _her_ about my manly urges.”

Zuko frowns. “Why do _I_ have to hear about your manly urges?”

“Because you’re a man, too! We’re manly men with manly urges,” Sokka insists, voice cracking at the exact wrong second. He continues in a slightly deeper tone, “C’mon, you probably know all sorts of royal wooing techniques.”

He thinks this over. “Uncle _has_ given me a lot of advice on the subject.”

“Did any of it work?”

It’s Zuko’s turn to make a face. “I never _followed_ it. I think he just liked giving it.”

"Hm. Okay. What’cha got?” 

The older boy considers. "He said something about shade being better than wildflowers." 

He squints. “And that means?”

Zuko may have remembered that one wrong. "...I don't know?" 

“Okay," Sokka accepts, "hit me with another one.”

Zuko thinks. “He said that all tightrope walkers fall, and that's why there's a ladder and a net."

Sokka frowns. “Are you sure that one’s about love and not just a cool circus fact?”

“I’m not sure _any_ of them are about love,” Zuko replies, exasperated. “But he says stuff like this whenever we pass girls, and then he winks and elbows me and sometimes he makes me talk to them.” 

Sokka considers. “What would you say to them?”

“I’d ask if they’d seen the Avatar.”

“Hm.” Strangely, Sokka seems speculative. “Did that work?”

Zuko shakes his head. “It was before he came out of the iceberg.”

“That’s- okay.” Sokka drops his face into his hands. “I should've asked Appa."

\----

Aang arrives approximately ten minutes after Sokka leaves. Despite Master Yugoda’s request that the three leave him alone, it seems as if there’s a concerted effort to do the opposite. It should probably be irritating, Zuko thinks. 

Aang glances over each shoulder, twitchy and suspicious, before slipping one hand up his sleeve and removing a slim white candle. He holds it out to Zuko with a broad grin. “Katara mentioned that being in the North Pole might be messing with your Firebending,” he explains. He hesitates at Zuko’s stunned silence. “This could help, right?” 

“I could use it to escape,” he points out instead of answering.

“Well, if you don’t want to be here, that’s a good thing, right? I still think you should wait until you feel better, though," he admonishes hastily. 

Zuko considers him. “Does anyone know you’re giving me this?”

Aang rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Not...really?"

He frowns. “You could get into trouble."

“But it could help you,” Aang counters simply. “And it's not your fault they're so suspicious. If there's a problem, I’m sure I can smooth things over, _Avatar-style.”_

Zuko smiles a little and finally reaches out for the candle. “Avatar-style, huh?”

Predictably, Aang beams.

Zuko pinches the wick, but when he encourages it to catch flame, it just... doesn’t. Aang watches, concerned, as Zuko tries again and again to similar results. Finally, he roars and hurls it against the wall. _“What is wrong with me?!”_ He breaks into a coughing spasm, throat unused to his standard amounts of yelling.

“You’re still healing,” mollifies the Airbender as he retrieves the candle. “You’re doing way better than you were yesterday! You probably just need more rest.”

“I’ve done nothing _but_ rest,” Zuko counters, frustrated.

“Then you’re on the right track! Here,” he continues, sitting on the ground in front of Zuko, legs crossed and shoulders slack. “How about I get it started for you? It’s technically training!”

Zuko scowls. He wants to snap that Aang has no right to assume he’ll continue teaching him, but the argument falls flat before he can even make it. The kid is only trying to help. He's heard of the isolation chambers at the Boiling Rock, freezing rooms designed to snuff a Firebender's inner flame if they don't comply. Maybe that's what's happening here. Sure, he's got blankets and he feels _too_ warm most of the time, but. But that has to be it, so maybe the fire will help. “Fine.” He shifts. “Creating fire from thin air is different from breathing with it, or feeling it, so focus. You’re going to be creating something out of nothing but energy and anger.” 

“Anger?” Aang echoes, surprised.

Zuko nods. “Start by thinking about something that makes you angry. Something specific.” 

Aang considers the exercise. “I don’t like the way they’re treating Katara here,” he says, tone quiet but steady. “I don’t like that I have to train with Master Pakku.”

Zuko nods. “Good. Focus on that.”

“ _Focus_ on the anger?” Aang repeats doubtfully. “The monks always said that anger is like breath. You let it in, and let it out, but if you hold onto it, you’ll choke.” 

“Air Nomads aren’t _Firebenders_. Anger is like fire. It can cause harm, but it helps you survive. It keeps you from being weak." 

“You said Firebending is life,” Aang says, brow furrowing.

“It is,” Zuko agrees patiently, “but it’s fueled by anger.”

Aang cocks his head. “Why?”

He rolls his eyes. “It just _is_.”

“I wasn’t angry when I Firebended before,” Aang points out. “I was just focusing. I was _happy_.”

“I started that fire for you,” Zuko counters. “ Your job was keeping it from spreading.” Aang glances away, remorse tinging his features, and Zuko hesitates. “You can focus on that, maybe,” he offers awkwardly. “But hold onto the anger. It’ll warm you up from the inside, and then you can let that heat out. ”

“But that sounds _awful,”_ Aang complains. “I don’t want to be _angry_ all the time.”

Zuko scowls. “This is how it’s done, Avatar, like it or not.”

Aang wrinkles his nose. “Now you sound like _Pakku_.”

“Look,” he snaps, “if you have a better way, make your own fire. See if I care!” 

Aang hesitates at the outburst, then nods. “Okay,” he says, tone full of strained optimism. “ _Anger_. I can do that.”

Zuko nods firmly. “Good. Now, just- focus on the wick, and hold onto your anger. Your frustration. Any shame you carry with you, any mistakes you’ve made. It'll heat your blood. Let it boil over until you can feel the fire just under your fingertips, as if you were already holding it." He waits a beat. "Can you feel it?”

Aang shifts. “I...think?”

“You have to be certain,” Zuko says. “Fire isn’t about doubt. If you doubt yourself, you won’t even be able to make a spark. Be sure of yourself. Be sure of your _anger.”_

Aang concentrates on Zuko’s words, brows furrowing and lips thinning, beads of sweat budding on his temples. Despite his obvious effort, it takes a long time for his temper to flare. When it finally does, so does the wick. Zuko’s relief is instantaneous. The air feels clearer and his breathing turns smooth. Aang must notice the way he relaxes; his perturbed expression transitions to an easy smile.

They sit in silence, basking in the small but comforting flame, until the candle is nothing but a stump of melted wax.

“I’ll bring another one next time I visit,” Aang offers as the last bit of wick, charred to black, disappears in a ribbon of smoke. 

Zuko nods. "Thank you.” 

The boy stands just to bow obnoxiously. “Of _course_ , Sifu Hotman.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “I won.”

“What?”

“The race. You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

Aang stares.

“No more Sifu Hotmans,” he continues, “and you owe me thirty hot squats.” 

Aang _groans_.

\----

“I followed your advice,” Sokka announces as he inflicts Zuko's latest edible torture. 

“My advice?”

“I talked to her,” Sokka elaborates. 

He sips another spoonful of soup and manages not to wince. It's thicker this time, milky white and savory. He chose not to ask what was in it. "How’d that work?”

“I fell into a canal." Zuko barks out a laugh, surprised, and Sokka seems simultaneously pleased and offended. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Turns out that was a good icebreaker. We're meeting again tonight." He slurps enthusiastically from his own stew, then continues, "I was thinking to myself, how do I blow the competition out of the water? And then it _hit_ me."

"Something hit you?"

"Yep. Little thing called _inspiration_." He sets aside his bowl and withdraws a furled scroll. "Check this out."

Zuko takes the paper with some trepidation, frowning at the subject matter. It’s a…painting of Momo? The animal is a little more abstract than he generally is, with wide-brush swoops of white representing his ears, but the flustered expression is actually pretty good. Still... “What does your lemur have to do with anything?” 

“Momo?” Sokka repeats, stealing the paper and squinting at it. “How do you see _Momo?”_

Zuko points at the very obvious winged lemur ears. “His ears.”

 _“Her hair,_ ” Sokka responds, scandalized.

Zuko glances from the picture to Sokka and then back again. "This is supposed to be the Princess? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm _sure,"_ Sokka snaps, snagging the portrait. "It's beautiful and _she's_ going to appreciate it because _she's_ got artistic taste."

"Are you sure?" Zuko asks again. "You barely know her." 

"Well." Sokka chews this over. "If she didn't before, she will after she sees this." 

The wall opens before Zuko can express his doubt over this statement. Aang strolls in, carrying a tray of bowls and a fresh pitcher of water. When he sees they’ve already eaten, he offers, “Seconds?”

Zuko's stomach rumbles before he can decline, and so he begins his second bowl of fishy stew. 

Aang plops down beside Sokka and begins nibbling at his spiced kelp. "What are we talking about?"

"Art," Sokka answers, displaying his painting with a fierce scowl towards Zuko. 

"Wow!" Aang exclaims, delighted. 

Sokka preens.

"What an amazing Momo!"

Sokka stops preening. "It's Princess Yue," he mutters, slumping.

"Oh." Aang considers this for a moment, then grins. "I like her wings!"

\----

Aang leaves a candle burning when he goes.

Zuko barely has time to douse it when the wall begins to melt away. 

A stranger steps through, tall and narrow-framed, with a snow white goatee and long, flowing hair. Despite his advanced age and the prisoner he approaches, his manner is unhurried and aloof. With a casual gesture, the wall behind him reforms, smoother than before. 

Zuko narrows his eyes.

If the Northern Water Tribe wants to stay on the Avatar’s good side _and_ dispose of their unexpected prisoner, they’d do well to kill him now and blame the illness. Aang and Katara would be too naïve to question such a death. Sokka might have his doubts, but he wouldn’t risk the tribe’s support over dubious suspicions. 

But Zuko won’t make it easy for them. He stands, fists tight, and waits for the other man to make the first move. He can't bend yet, but he feels stronger than he did yesterday. If he's underestimated, he might be able to get the upper hand. He might even be able to get _out._

But no good plan starts with die. 

“Prince Zuko,” the man greets evenly. 

Zuko narrows his eyes. He _waits._

“I have some questions for you.”

It's not as if he has any information anyone needs, but it's the principle of the thing. “Either release me or leave. I’m not here to talk." 

“Very well. I’ll speak, then, and you can _listen_.” He dips his hand into his pocket, removing a black and white pai sho tile. Zuko tries not to look as confused as he feels. Is he going to have to play pai sho? Is this torture? “Healer Kori found this in your pocket.” The tile spins around and around in the old man’s fingers, but he never takes his eyes off of Zuko. “Seeing as how this is a rather important piece in a game you don’t seem the type to play, I have to think that this is not yours.” Zuko doesn’t reply. Almost bored, almost amused, the man says more than asks, “Iroh gave you this, didn’t he?” 

Zuko blinks, stunned into echoing: “Uncle? You know him?” He narrows his eyes. ”How?”

“Reason is the first fatality in any great war. Despite the differences between our nations, your Uncle and I are both reasonable men. It stands to reason, then, that in certain respects, we must stand together.”

“You sound like him,” Zuko mutters, frustrated by the long-winded non-answer. 

“That’s a kinder compliment than you know.” The man resumes spinning his tile. “What is his message?"

"His _message?"_

"Why did he send you?”

Zuko frowns. “He didn't. ”

The tile stills between the old man's index finger and thumb and, for the first time, he seems genuinely irritated. “Then why do you have it?”

Zuko doesn’t answer. He just glares, chin jutted out defiantly.

“Of course," he observes dryly. “Your adamantine vow of silence." He regards the younger man shrewdly. “If you have any interest in leaving this cell, Prince Zuko, I suggest you answer my questions. Your friends have advocated on your behalf- admirably if imprudently- but as long as _I_ believe you are a danger, this is where you're going to stay. Do you understand that?" 

Zuko remains silent.

“They said you could be reasoned with,” he comments. “That, independent of your father, you aren't a threat." 

“They’re wrong,” Zuko hisses, rage and shame and adrenaline burning through his blood. "The moment I get out of here, I _will_ capture the Avatar, and you _will_ lose this war." 

If the old man is surprised by the sheer vitriol of the diatribe, it doesn’t show. “He wrote to me about you, you know. Your Uncle.” Zuko stills, and the Water Tribesman scans him idly. “It seems even the wisest of men find their folly in sentiment.”

Zuko scowls at the insult to his Uncle, and it is in this moment that he realizes. The contempt. The arrogance. The Waterbending skill. _The stupid beard._ “You’re _Pakku.”_

There’s a flicker of intrigue in the man’s expression. “I am,” he agrees, nearly amused. “What gave it away?”

“You know my Uncle,” he says instead of answering, stepping forward. “Do you know my sister?”

“Princess Azula,” Pakku drawls, observing Zuko’s approach with mild interest but no concern. “What about her?”

“She could melt this pathetic city,” Zuko asserts, “burn your fleet, and destroy your weapons. She could defeat _you_ without breaking a sweat.” 

Pakku frowns. “Are you trying to threaten me?” He clasps his hands behind his back and takes a step forward, looming over Zuko with cold eyes. “I know your story, Prince Zuko. I know no one is coming for you, least of all your little sister.”

“I know your story, too,” Zuko rejoins caustically. “An old man too scared to train a student with actual potential.” 

“Despite his disrespect,” retorts Pakku, unimpressed, “I have in fact _begun_ to teach the Avatar-”

“Not him,” Zuko interrupts flatly. _“Her.”_

The man blinks, surprised, and then scoffs. "They've got you involved in this nonsense? I might have guessed." He shakes his head. "Women are not meant to fight, Prince Zuko. They simply do not have the disposition.”

“I’d like to be there,” Zuko replies steadily, “when you tell Azula that.” 

Pakku narrows his eyes. “Perhaps they allow women to fight in the Fire Nation, but you’re somewhere more civilized. Our women do not sully themselves with the indignity of battle. They learn the healing arts.” 

“Are your people incapable of multitasking?”

“My people have their own traditions. I’d expect even someone like _you_ to respect that.”

“I don’t offer respect where it isn’t deserved,” Zuko retorts. 

The man raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard differently.” 

“Then you’ve heard _wrong_. I’ve fought Katara,” Zuko tells him coldly, " _and_ I’ve trained with her. She’s talented and she’s dedicated. You’re a fool to dismiss her.” 

“She has talent,” Pakku agrees evenly. “It will be well utilized in Healer Yugoda’s classes, where she can learn with the rest of the girls.” 

“I was wrong,” Zuko decides, crossing his arms. “You’re nothing like Uncle.” 

Pakku seems momentarily thrown, but the expression smooths away to neutrality in a blink. “Have a good evening, Prince Zuko,” he says as the ice melts behind him. “We’ll be seeing more of each other, I’m sure.” 

Zuko watches him go, eyes narrow. “I’ll be waiting.” 

\----

Zuko catalogues everything he knows.

He’s still alive. _That_ means the Northern Water Tribe thinks he knows something important, or thinks he’s _worth_ something. The Avatar and his team are allegedly advocating for his release, which either means he’s being manipulated into trusting them or he’s allowed to trust them. If the Council tries to use him as collateral, Father will think he’s weak, _and_ Zuko will be killed when their demands aren’t met. If he gets a letter to Father _before_ they send their missives...he can control the narrative, just a little. Maybe Father, relieved that his son is alive, would be willing to negotiate Peace Talks, and officials who understand diplomacy could take Zuko’s place. Maybe the war could end without unnecessary bloodshed, and maybe Zuko could go home.

There are too many ifs and maybes in this plan, but it’s all he has.

Mind made up, he rolls onto his side and wonders, absently, about how _Uncle_ knows a misogynistic Waterbending Master from the isolated Northern Tribe. 

\----

Zuko is just about to nod off when Sokka bustles into the cell with snacks and an armful of scrolls. Though the older boy had been anxiously waiting for him to arrive so that he could request a quill, paper, and a delivery service, he finds himself poring over the scrolls instead. He’s not eager to write the letter, for one thing, and for another, they have plays he’s _never_ been able to find. Figures they'd been locked up here for a hundred years. Now that he can stay awake for longer than ten minutes at a time, maybe he can actually churn through a few. 

And _then_ he’ll figure out how to tell his Father he’s gotten himself captured. 

"Thought you might be getting bored," Sokka explains, seeming pleased by his interest. "It turns out there's a library here. Don’t forget to eat, though.”

“I won't,” Zuko mumbles absentmindedly. Sokka places a single piece of jerky on the two-hundred-year-old paper, and Zuko scowls. “Fine!” He snaps, taking a vicious bite. “I’m eating!” 

“Just making sure,” Sokka hums, sliding down into a sprawl beside him. He sits in silence as Zuko reads. Like any silence around Sokka, it doesn’t last long. “This place gives me the creeps.”

Zuko glances up, surprised. Sure, _he_ hates it here, but he assumed Sokka was enjoying his time. “Why? _You’re_ Water Tribe.”

“I’m from a _Southern_ Water Tribe _,_ ” Sokka counters. “You’ve seen my village. We had five tents. Our snow wall took a week to make, and went up to my knee. Katara was our only Waterbender, and she could barely stir water with a spoon.” He stares up at the ceiling. “I guess this is our culture. Was our culture? I know I should feel some sort of kinship to it, or pride for it, or-” He breaks off, then continues briskly before Zuko can comment, “Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I meant this _cell_. For one, it’s like that old joke: when is a door not a door?”

“When it’s an impenetrable wall of ice?” Zuko guesses flatly.

Sokka taps his nose, nodding. “And second...I didn’t plan beautiful escape after beautiful escape just so you could be in jail _again._ It's been _two_ days. You should be in the healing chambers. We keep telling them that you’re not a threat-”

“I _am_ a threat.”

“-and you saying stuff like that _really_ doesn’t help.”

“It’s true,” Zuko counters reasonably. 

“You’re injured!”

“I could be faking it.”

“Their healers feel chi. I’d love to see you try to convince someone you’re sick when you’re not. I mean, I’d pay money. Real, good, honest Water Tribe money.” He slumps. "It's just messed up. Everything here is. They've been in their little fortress for a hundred years, ignoring the rest of the world, and the _war,_ and just- obsessing over pointless traditions. Like this training thing! I mean, _sure,_ Katara will learn anyway, but-”

“How?” Zuko wonders, surprised.

Sokka scoffs. “Are you kidding? You’re talking to the _Mastermind_.” Zuko waits, and, after a moment, Sokka shrugs. “I just told Aang to teach her whatever he learns.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

Sokka tosses a bite of jerky into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I should ask Yue what she thinks about all that. _She’s_ a girl.”

“You’ve mentioned.” 

"But I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about politics on a first date. Although she _is_ a Princess, so maybe _not_ talking about politics is weird?” He squints. “Okay, let me practice some lines on you.”

“Lines?”

“Just to see what feels right and what feels weird. You be her, I’ll be me-”

“What? _No.”_

“Fine, I’ll be her, and you be me, but you better have some _great_ lines if you're playing me-” Before Sokka can finish going insane, the wall melts away and Aang and Katara walk through. Zuko has never been so grateful to have no privacy. 

"I melted that myself," Aang reveals proudly as the door seals shut behind him. 

"Feel like melting another one?" Zuko wonders wryly. 

When it seems Aang is giving the request genuine consideration, Sokka rolls his eyes. "How about we wait until Zuko can actually run before we help him run away? Or until nobody wants to kill him. Whichever comes first."

"I can run," Zuko argues, even though standing wears him out. “If you really want to help,” he continues, turning back to Aang. “I need a quill and paper."

"What," Katara laughs, "is Sokka going to teach you to paint?"

Sokka scowls and crosses his arms in exaggerated offense, but Zuko remains serious. "I need to contact my Father." 

Everyone stills. 

Sokka clarifies, as if Zuko has _another_ father, “...The Fire Lord?”

“I’ve thought about what you said,” Zuko confirms. "If I write to him about what’s happened, and tell him the Avatar wants to negotiate…” He trails off. “It may not work, but I have to try.” 

The three exchange a look. 

“What?” He demands, irritated. Why does it always seem as if they’re having different conversations? 

“We were sorta planning to wait until you were all healed up,” Sokka answers without answering, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “But-”

“But what ?” 

“Zuko…” Katara swallows, then goes for it: “We’d like to know what happened.”

“...What happened?”

“Between you and your Dad,” she elaborates, clearly uncomfortable but just as clearly determined. “Between what you’ve told Sokka, and what those soldiers said when they were attacking us, we’re...we’re worried, Zuko.”

“They didn’t know what they were talking about,” he says, stomach squirming at the strange show of concern. “Or they were just trying to throw me off guard. It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work.” 

“So there’s nothing more to it?” Aang clarifies steadily. “Nothing about an Agni Kai?”

Zuko shifts.

“We just want to hear it from you,” Sokka insists. “I told you I’d listen to you, and that’s what I'm trying to do here."

"Why should it matter?" Zuko demands. "Why do you care what happened?"

"If we’re gonna write to him and start _Peace Talks, Part Two: This Time, it’s Flammable_ , I want to know more about the guy! I want to-" He breaks off, frowns, then tries again. "I'm asking because I want to know what happened. Because of what those guards said, and because of what you've said, and because if he wants you dead, then I want to stop him." 

Zuko takes a moment to reply, a little startled by the answer. “I'm telling you he doesn't want me dead,” he says slowly. “You keep saying you trust me. Can’t you just trust me when I say _that?”_ They meet his eyes but don't say a word. No, then, apparently. Zuko sinks back against the wall, disappointed but not surprised. “Everyone knows the story,” he points out stiffly.

“Not us,” Sokka replies evenly. “We were either living around ice or in it. Not a ton of news got through. Assume we know less than nothing and start from there.” He shifts forward. “Zhao, for example-”

“Zhao does what he wants,” Zuko interrupts snappishly. “He doesn’t care about honor. If he did, he wouldn’t have lied to my Father and told him I was dead.” 

“And your Dad,” Sokka prods. “He banished you _before_ Aang defrosted?”

“It was Agni’s will,” Zuko asserts. It’s easy enough to see where this is going. “He ordered me to find the Avatar, and just like that, the Avatar _returned_. It was destiny.”

“'Just like that' meaning three years? Is destiny _always_ this slow?”

Zuko decides to answer by glaring. Glaring usually gets his point across better than talking.

“Okay,” he accepts. “You think that was a reasonable punishment, then?” When he nods slightly, Sokka prods, “What’d you do that got him so fired up?” 

Katara elbows her brother. “Can you _not?”_

“That one wasn’t even on purpose,” he defends maudlinly, rubbing at his shoulder. “It just slipped out.” 

Katara rolls her eyes and turns back to Zuko. “Sorry,” she says. “Go on.” 

Zuko hesitates. If he doesn’t answer, they could just ask anyone else, someone like _Pakku_ , someone that would get it all wrong. As much as he doesn’t want to admit what happened, he also needs them to know, so that they can understand. Father didn’t have a _choice_. 

“I made a mistake,” he says finally, avoiding their gazes. “I was foolish. Arrogant. I wanted more responsibilities, the opportunity to prove myself. Azula was alwa-” He shakes himself out of the tangent. His reasons, his _intentions_ , don’t matter. The point is what happened. “I asked my Uncle to bring me to a war meeting. I was too young, and Father didn’t want me there, but I just kept pestering Uncle until he agreed to bring me. He made me promise not to talk.” His voice lowers. “I promised him.” 

When he wavers too long, Sokka suggests, lightly, “...I’m sensing you talked?”

“I yelled,” he admits.

“Hm,” Sokka says, “this adds up.”

This should probably annoy Zuko. For some stupid reason, it just takes away some of the tension in his shoulders. 

“What were you yelling about?” Katara wonders.

“Does it matter?” Zuko counters caustically, hunching back in on himself. “I promised to respect my Uncle’s wishes, the authority of the War Chamber, and instead I insulted a General to his _face_.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Aang asserts softly. “You disagreed with a bad plan.”

“Plan?” Katara repeats, glancing between them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko repeats. He feels cold. This ridiculous- this ridiculous _ice_ cell.

“It sounds like it _does_ ,” Katara contends gently, “if it ended in- if what happened, happened.” 

Zuko shrugs one shoulder jerkily. He wants them to understand that his Father wasn’t wrong, but at the same time...at the same time, he wants them to understand _why_ he was so disrespectful. It doesn’t excuse his actions, he knows that, but- but it was a _bad plan_. And he was _right_ to speak out against it, even if he went about it the wrong way, and he needs them to know that. “General Higashi,” he explains stiltedly. “He had a plan to conquer Omashu. I...disagreed with his strategy. Loudly.” He continues, defensively or maybe offensively and maybe he can’t tell the difference anymore, “and I know I shouldn’t have done that, but he was _wrong._ He was going to use an entire division of fresh troops as nothing more than _bait_.”

“Bait?” Sokka repeats, frowning.

“To distract the Earthbenders,” he explains, an old familiar rage rearing up under his skin. He’s grateful. His voice comes out hard and steady. “And while they were busy being _massacred_ , more experienced troops could attack from the rear.” 

Katara lets out a small, horrified gasp. “How could they do that to their own people?”

He doesn’t know. But he knows the answer General Higashi would have given. “It’s war,” he sneers. “Sacrifices must be made. _Hundreds_ of soldiers willing to risk their lives for their nation, and he just-!” He breaks off, shaking his head. “It was wrong. I don’t regret speaking out against it. I don’t. I just-” His rage softens as regret takes its place. “I should have been more respectful. I dishonored my Father.” 

“You honored your people,” Aang retorts gently. “You spoke on their behalf when no one else would. You did the right thing, Zuko. They were wrong to banish you for it.” 

Zuko hesitates. It would be easy to just nod…

“They didn’t,” Sokka says, as ever too perceptive for anyone’s good. He considers Zuko shrewdly, his cerulean gaze narrowed to slits. “There’s more, isn’t there?” 

Zuko’s hands tremble, and he forces them into tight fists to keep the others from noticing. It’s just so cold. There’s a pit in the bottom of his stomach simultaneously depthlessness and dense, and he feels as if its tendril-like chill is reaching out to every other part of him. He wonders if Waterbenders can do that to you. Freeze your blood and leave you numb and raw and shivering. Maybe that’s what’s happening.

They don’t know. He doesn't want them to know. 

He doesn’t know when he started caring what they think of him, but he _does,_ and- 

“Zuko?” Katara shifts slightly closer, collecting and cataloguing every flicker in his expression. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he barks, but it’s more defensive than intimidating, and she doesn’t back off.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” she decides. “You don’t owe us this. I’m sorry if we made you feel like you did.” Zuko’s attention flashes briefly to Sokka, and she catches it. She nudges her brother. “ _Right_ , Sokka?”

Zuko expects him to refuse, or at least to _hesitate,_ but he doesn’t. He nods. “She’s right. I told you when we first met for the second time that you could keep your secrets, and...you can.” 

“We understand if this is too much,” Katara concurs, and he prickles under the misplaced sympathy. They don’t get it. If they did, they’d...they’d _understand._

“I’m fine,” he says again, and this time it manages to sound angry.

Katara nods uncertainly. “If you’re sure.”

He continues before they can offer him another out. “I knew I was right and I knew General Hagashi was a coward, and so when my Father demanded I show honor through an Agni Kai, I accepted.” 

Sokka’s face shadows. “Wait, your Dad pitted you against a General? You were _thirteen._ ” 

Zuko forces himself to keep breathing. “I...thought those were the terms, yes. I knew I could take him, and I wasn’t scared. I would have fought him,” he continues forcefully, “and I would have won.” He swallows, then looks away. “But- when I got to the Agni Kai, it wasn’t Higashi. It was my Father. And I didn’t fight,” he admits, voice breaking. “I know I should have. I know it was cowardly. I know-”

 _“Zuko,”_ Katara murmurs, and this is all the warning he gets before she’s wrapped around him like a ribbon. 

He wriggles out of her hold, surprised. 

“Sorry,” she says bashfully. Her fingers curl around his hand anyway, a strange but grounding touch that Zuko pretends not to notice so he doesn't have to pull away. “But that-that’s _horrible,_ Zuko. How on Earth could they expect you to fight your own Father?”

A glance at the others confirms this is the group consensus. 

He doesn’t understand the reaction for a moment. He'd just told them he hadn’t _fought_. Water Tribe, he reminds himself. Air nomad. Of course they don’t understand. “Not fighting during an Agni Kai...it’s one of the most dishonorable things a person can do,” he tries to explain. 

“And that’s why he banished you,” Sokka surmises, frowning. “Because you didn’t fight.”

“When I agreed,” he says a little defensively, “I didn’t realize it was going to be _him.”_ It’s a poor excuse, but he still gives it. 

“But it was your _Father_ ,” Katara insists, as if the story will change if she wills it so. “How could they expect you to fight him? How could they expect _him_ to fight _you?_ How could he be _willing_ to fight you?” Her voice gets sharper and louder even as the hand cradling his remains soft. 

“I disrespected General Higashi in my Father’s war room,” Zuko explains patiently. “While I didn’t mean it that way, I...I still disrespected _him_.”

Her lips thin and she juts out her chin just a little. She looks a lot like she had during the Peace Talks. “That’s absurd,” she charges. “You were a _kid."_

“I was old enough to know better,” he replies quietly. 

She's unimpressed. "So was _he_." 

Sokka leans forward. There's a hesitance to his expression which immediately puts Zuko on edge. “From what I’ve heard…” He frowns down at his calloused fingers, brows furrowed as he carefully arranges his sentence before speaking it. “...It just sounds like he was looking for an _excuse_.”

“...What.” 

“You were a little loud, and that was his reaction?” Sokka shakes his head, inconceivably calm. “There was more to it than that. He wanted you gone.” 

“That’s not true,” he hisses, stiff as stone.

“The second you didn’t fight, he banished you. I don’t get it,” Sokka adds, finally revealing a little of his exasperation, “I really _don’t_ , but if you’d fought-”

“Stop _talking-!”_

“-If you’d fought,” Sokka continues, still infuriatingly calm, as if he were just stating _facts_ , “he would have _killed_ you, Zuko.” 

_“You’re wrong!”_

“I hope so,” he says, “but I don’t think I am.” 

“You don’t _get_ it!” Zuko roars. “He had his chance! If he didn’t want me, he _would_ have killed me! He didn’t! He just- he just-” He stumbles for a moment, mind blaring static as he tries to think, and when he speaks again, it’s almost steady. “He taught me a _lesson_. About honor. He gave me a chance to get mine _back.”_

Katara shakes her head. “You already have your honor, Zuko,” she insists, as Sokka argues,

“You were thirteen and he was ready to _fight_ you-”

The siblings carry on, overlapping their arguments and protestations and misplaced sympathies, but Aang... Aang is _quiet_.

“A lesson,” the boy repeats, tone stilted, expression blank. 

“I should have fought,” Zuko tells them as he’s told himself for three years. Shame gnashes at his stomach like a starving hippo-whale. “I was a coward. A snivelling _weakling_ begging on my knees instead of fighting, dishonoring myself and my family and my _nation_. But he gave me a chance to do better. And I _will_ do better, I _know_ I will, I won’t fail him again-”

“You didn’t fail him,” Aang says, and his tone still has that strange, wooden quality to it. “He failed _you_ , Zuko.” 

Katara glances between them, brow furrowed. “...Aang?”

“He burned you,” Aang says, and Zuko suddenly realizes that he’s not blank or hollow or even sad. He’s _furious_. “You questioned them, and he burned you. _That_ was the lesson. _That’s_ how you got that scar.”

“He spared my _life_ ,” he corrects harshly. “He-”

 _“He burned you?!”_ Where Aang’s anger simmered, Sokka’s explodes. Zuko stiffens. His hand tenses under Katara’s and she murmurs,

“Sokka.”

“He _burned_ him!” Sokka leaps to his feet, pacing around the cell like a feral tiger bear. “What is wrong with- how do you even _get_ that evil?! Do you have to take a class!? Was he built in a _monster factory?!_ How do you- how do you _do_ that?!”

“He spared my life!” Zuko repeats furiously, standing. He’s not scared. If something happens, he can handle it. Sokka is angry, and Aang is angry, but he can handle it. He can.

“You’re his kid!” Sokka shouts, and it starts out furious but his voice breaks halfway through. He doesn’t say anything deep and manly to cover it up. He just stares at Zuko, less angry and more- more something _else_. “You’re his kid.”

“And I failed him,” Zuko concurs, balling his hands into white-knuckled fists, ready for the fight that must be coming. His heart pounds. “But I won’t fail him this time. Not ever again. I’m going to get out of here, and when I _do-”_

He breaks off, stunned right out of his developing stance.

The Avatar is hugging him.

Why does this keep _happening?_

He tries to shift away but, unlike before, the hold around him just tightens. “What are you doing?” It's meant to be a demand, but it comes out feeble. 

“He failed you,” Aang says again. “I’m so sorry, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks down at him, flustered. “Get off of me! You don’t know what you’re talking about! _It was my fault-!”_

“No,” Sokka denies tiredly, “it really wasn’t.” 

“I screwed up,” Zuko insists, and Aang hugs harder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Zuko,” Katara says, squeezing his hand. Her expression is soft and unfathomably sad. “You stood up for your people. You were brave. You were honorable, and he- he _wasn’t_. ”

“He’s the Fire Lord,” Zuko hisses, appalled at the show of disrespect.

“And that’s just about the only thing the guy’s got going for him,” Sokka remarks, sitting at Zuko’s left. He doesn’t hold his hand and he doesn’t hug him, but his shoulder brushes against Zuko’s and then stays there. 

“You don’t understand,” Zuko tries. “I’m explaining it wrong.” 

“No,” says Aang, drawing back to meet his eyes, “you’re not.” 

“He did what he had to,” Zuko attempts to explain. “For the Fire Nation. For _me._ I’ll be stronger, because of him. I’ll be _grateful_. I was a _coward._ ”

“You were thirteen,” Sokka retorts.

“I was _disrespectful_.”

“I’m disrespectful all the time,” he counters flippantly. “And I haven’t been banished, not even once. And,” he adds, “I’m the son of a _Chief_. You said yourself that basically makes me a Prince.” 

“That’s different,” Zuko argues snappishly. “I’m not heir to a supply of melting snowballs, I’m heir to the _Fire Nation_. I’m the future Fire Lord! ”

“So was Lu Ten,” Sokka observes. “Would he have deserved that? Would your Uncle have _done_ that?” 

“I’m not Lu Ten!” Zuko snarls, pulse racing. 

“And your Dad isn’t your Uncle,” Sokka retorts, as if that weren’t an insane sentence. 

Zuko hates that he understands. He wants to argue that Uncle lost his throne _because_ of his weakness. That if anything, Sokka’s argument _proves_ his point. But he can’t. Uncle isn’t weak. Uncle isn’t weak, but Father- Father _had_ to have his reasons. “I made mistakes."

“So did I," Aang replies steadily. "You forgave me. And Sokka, _and_ Katara." 

"You're _allowed_ to forgive yourself, Zuko," Katara says. "And you're allowed to recognize that you deserved better. That you _still_ deserve better." 

“You’re trying to manipulate me again," he charges unsteadily. He tries to feel the rage this realization should engender, but instead there's a squirming, awful _doubt._ "You just want to use me against him."

Sokka scoffs. "Oh no, I've got him _handled."_

"... _you_?"

"I'm going to name my boomerang Karma," Sokka says calmly, "and I'm going to tell him Karma is coming around again." Zuko snorts out a surprised laugh. He feels distant from his body, hollow and numb and a little sick. Sokka considers him. "Do you remember back in the prison, when we were just Lee and Tiger Seal-"

" _Walrus,_ " he corrects automatically. 

"-and you told me, like, a _quarter_ of what you just said? I told you that it was wrong. I told you to _leave,_ because you deserved better. That wasn't advice tailored to manipulate Prince Zuko. That was one hundred percent authentic good advice that's _still_ good advice now. Don't let _this_ guy decide your destiny. This _isn't_ about the war, Zuko. This is me-" He falters. "This is me wanting my friend to be safe." 

Aang nods along with the words, expression sober and too old for his face. Katara squeezes his hand. 

He wants to believe them. He wants to believe they like him, that they’re not just lying, but they _have_ to be lying, because-

"He loves me,” Zuko insists, and his voice is so small he’s not even sure he’s said anything.

“He should," Katara agrees quietly. “You deserve to be loved.” 

They barely know each other. He's spent most of his time hunting them. Why- _how_ could they care more about him than- more than-

(Father hasn't replied to a single letter in three years.)

(Father was going to kill him when he was eleven years old.)

“This isn't- You don’t even know me,” he accuses, a stone in his throat. 

“You saved Sokka’s life,” Katara counters, bumping against him teasingly. “ _Twice_. You protected Aang even if it meant going against the only person you trusted. And I _know_ you told Pakku off.” Her lips quirk. “Sorry, Zuko, but _I_ love you.” 

“I love you, too!” Aang declares, his solemn nature lost at the opportunity for teasing. Zuko is pretty sure Aang would declare his love to a passing gull crab, but his throat still feels uncomfortably tight at the uncomplicated show of affection. 

The two glance meaningfully at Sokka. “I make it a point to only profess my love to one royal a week,” he hems, “and I’d really rather save it up for Yue.”

Katara frowns. “Sokka. ”

“I’m sorry,” he says, theatrically apologetic, “but she has much prettier hair.”

“Zuko has _beautiful_ hair!” Aang argues, and Zuko lets out a strangled huff of air that might be a laugh. The pressure in his chest eases in the face of their unyielding childishness. His breaths come more evenly, and the stone in his throat dissolves to a pebble. 

"Please," Sokka scoffs. "He's just copying _mine."_

The conversation carries on around him, simple and airy, as the tight knot in his stomach gradually uncoils. Katara's hand leaves to retrieve the water pitcher, and Aang flops to hang upside down off of the bed, and Sokka is on his feet, ranting about how Airbending while penguin sledding is cheating, but they're all still _here,_ filling the room with noise and warmth. 

When Zuko relaxes under this realization, Aang smiles brighter and peppers the banished Prince with unimportant questions about plays and dance parties, and Zuko’s voice transitions from choked to raspy to steady. He’s vaguely aware that this conversation isn't really over, but that in itself is somehow...comforting. They'll be back, if only to annoy him. Out of the corner of his good eye, he sees Sokka pull Katara aside. After they've exchanged a few quiet words, Katara smiles fiercely and nods. Sokka turns to Zuko. “You know what you get when you mix together Fire Nation cooks with Water Tribe cookware?”

Zuko waits.

“A melting pot." He gestures to the door. “I’m gonna go get more food. Any special requests?”

“...Jasmine tea?”

“Coming right up, buddy.” 

\----

It takes a long time for Sokka to come back. When he does, he comes with food, a large pot of tea, and several bags slung across his shoulders, each brimming with bedding supplies. As he hands Zuko a steaming cup of jasmine, Katara and Aang unpack their bedrolls. 

Zuko watches, puzzled. "What are those for?"

"Sleeping," Sokka answers. "I call the corner."

Zuko frowns. "Why?"

"It just seems like the right spot," he replies with a shrug, deliberately obtuse. 

“You’re guests, not prisoners,” Zuko points out. “You’re the Avatar. They gave you rooms.”

“Really fancy ones,” Sokka confirms, smoothing out the wrinkles of his bedroll. “I’m talking candy on the pillow, weird wobbly water beds, and all-night-long room service. Midnight meat is honestly a game-changer.”

This is the exact opposite of a comprehensible explanation. “So _why-_?” 

Aang smiles. “We’d rather be here.”

"As long as you're here," Sokka says, fluffing his pillow dramatically, "we're here." 

“Is that okay?” Katara asks, and she doesn’t put her bedroll down until Zuko offers an unsure nod. 

"What about your date with Yue?" 

"I let her know I can't make it tonight," Sokka answers easily, as if he hadn't been mooning over her for forty-eight hours. "We'll meet tomorrow instead. It'll give me time to perfect the painting."

Katara snorts. "You'd need a _year_ to fix _that_. _"_

Sokka harrumphs.

\----

That night, Zuko doesn’t dream of his Father’s war room. He doesn’t dream of flames that swallow him whole and screams that can’t quite escape. Instead, he dreams of fire that isn’t red, or blue, or any color he’s ever seen before. It’s fluorescent greenish yellow-purple, the color of nourishment and life and love, the color of something _ineffable_. 

And when he wakes up, he's not alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snacks, sleeping bags, and scary stories: the perfect sleepover!
> 
> Next chapter(s) will have boycotts, frustrated old men, and one or two familiar faces. 
> 
> Also, someone suggested I make a tumblr, so if anyone wants to pal around there, my username is Glass-0nion


	12. The Old Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, this chapter got away from me. Wound up chopping it in half to keep it to an almost-reasonable length, so the next update should come much more quickly, especially as work has quieted down for the holiday season. Thank you so much for your patience, and your amazing comments!

Zuko wakes for the first time when the wall melts and a soldier- broad-shouldered, wolfish, and clearly on edge- enters the cell. 

“Avatar Aang.” 

The Airbender sits forward with a sleepy stretch. “That’s me!”

The man’s attention flickers to Zuko. The Prince glares back at him, flint-eyed. The effect may be somewhat dulled due to his bedhead or the sheer number of furs tucked under his chin, but the soldier still seems suitably unnerved. “I am here on behalf of Master Pakku,” he explains stiltedly, turning back to Aang. “Lessons have already begun. If you-”

“Oh,” Aang interrupts, “I’m skipping those.” He flops back into his bedspread. 

“...skipping them?” 

“Yep,” he concurs, sounding half-asleep already. “Thanks anyway!”

The man blinks, baffled, then stutters, “I-I'll...let him know.” 

The wall reseals. 

Because he’s too tired to notice that was a strange interaction, Zuko goes back to sleep. 

\----

When Zuko wakes up for the second time, everyone else is _already_ awake. Sokka hunches over a scroll on his side of the cell while Katara and Aang work through some katas in theirs. Aang whispers something that has Katara adjusting the angle of her ankle, and when she resumes, her movements flow far more smoothly. 

Why are they still here?

Aang notices him watching and grins. “Morning, Zuko! Check out what Katara can do!” He turns to her and adds, "You can do this. Just remember: sink and float!”

“Sink and float," she repeats as she shifts into position. She breathes out slowly, raises her arms, and carefully streams water through the air in smooth, mesmerizing loops. When she's finished, she bends the water back into the wall, grinning as Aang cheers.

“That was impressive,” Zuko remarks. “You just learned that?”

“It can go right into the water whip,” she reveals enthusiastically. “Aang was about to show me that part.” 

“It’s all about the _wrists_ ,” he explains, flopping his hands instructionally. 

“That was _pretty_ good,” Sokka drawls from across the room, “but if you want to see _real_ talent, look at _this._ ”

They do. 

The painting he's proudly displaying is...a landscape, Zuko thinks. Maybe.

“...why is that hill wearing a hat?” Katara asks doubtfully. 

“That’s a _rainbow,”_ Sokka corrects sourly. “I just didn’t wait long enough for it to dry and the colors all mixed together. And _dripped_.” He considers Katara shrewdly. “Actually, can you fix that?”

She raises an eyebrow. “How would I fix that?”

“It’s _water_ color, you _Water_ bend. So _what’re_ you gonna do about it?”

She considers the question seriously before suggesting, “Burn it?” 

\----

When Master Yugoda arrives, they’re still _here._

She doesn’t bat an eye at the gaggle of children surrounding her patient, only shooing them away so that she has room to set up. She examines Zuko’s side critically. “Are you eating?”

He nods.

She glances at Katara. “ _Is_ he eating?”

“I _said_ yes,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

“I’ll make sure he gets a little extra,” Katara assures as she sits beside him on the bed. 

“Mind if I watch?” Aang asks, peeking over her shoulder. 

Master Yugoda blinks back at him. "You’re interested in _healing?_ ”

“...is that okay?” 

The healer smiles. “Well, why _not._ If I’m going to heal the Future Fire Lord, the Avatar might as well watch.” She shakes her head. “This has been a _strange_ week.” 

The healing process, as always, is arduous. It leaves Zuko feeling like he’s just run every set he knows with weights around his ankles. When they finally remove their hands, however, he also feels better than he has in _days._

“Only a few more days, think,” Yugoda comments. “You’re coming along nicely.” She glances at Katara. “How are _you_ doing?”

“A little tired,” she admits, wiping sweat from her brow, “but I can keep going.” 

“No need," Yugoda assures. "I’ll come back tonight. He needs some rest. You _too,_ mind. You've been working _hard_.” She smiles. “I doubt I’ve _ever_ met a student so dedicated. You keep up that attitude, Katara, and I promise there’s nothing you won’t be able to heal.” 

Katara blushes under the praise, clearly delighted. 

That is, until a small piece of wood is shoved into her face. “Does this look like a fish?” Sokka asks, before turning the small carving on its side. “Or more of a water bear situation?” 

Katara shoves his hand away. “It looks like a piece of _driftwood._ ”

“Hurtful. I’m asking for _constructive_ criticism. How do I _fix_ it?”

“Not even Master _Yugoda_ could fix _that,_ ” Katara retorts scathingly.

“I’m a healer,” concurs the old woman, amused, “not a miracle worker.” 

\----

Zuko takes a nap after the healing session. He’s sure that, when he wakes up _this_ time, he’ll be alone.

He isn’t.

They’re still just _here_. 

It makes no _sense_ that they're here, but he doesn’t necessarily want them to _go._ Having them here makes him feel safe, less like a prisoner and more of a…

He swallows and rolls onto his stomach, trying to force himself unconscious even though he can feel the sun again, and _that_ means he won’t be able to fall back asleep easily. He doesn’t want to think about the conversation they’d had last night. He doesn’t want to think about what Sokka insinuated. If he ignores it, maybe they’ll ignore it, too, and they can all just move on.

Unless it’s true. 

He rolls onto his back. Sokka had reached those conclusions because he’d been _concerned_ about Zuko. At least, that’s what he’d said. And he _did_ say he wouldn’t lie anymore, although that might have been a lie.

He rolls onto his side. Are they just friends, at this point? They’re probably not manipulating him. Of course, he thought that they were friends before, and he was wrong. But Sokka had _apologized_ for that. And they’d stood up to the council for him. Unless that was a lie, too.

They hadn’t judged him when he admitted he was a coward. They’d _defended_ him. They’d stayed with him. They’re _still_ staying with him. 

He rolls onto his back.

“If you keep tossing and turning,” Sokka says, not looking up, “you’re gonna break the bed. And if you keep thinking this hard, your fever is gonna come back and then you’re going to set your broken bed on _fire._ ”

Zuko throws a pillow at him.

\----

“Avatar Aang,” says the next soldier to visit. This one looks more irritated than uneasy. “Chief Arnook would like to speak with you.” 

“Great,” says Sokka before Aang can reply, raising his paintbrush horizontally and squinting at his reluctant muse. Zuko glares back at him. “Let him know he can stop by anytime. Our schedule is _wide_ open.”

The soldier hesitates, as puzzled by this response as Zuko. “He awaits the Avatar in his chambers.” 

“Ah. Unfortunately, we’re very busy at the moment,” Sokka asserts absurdly.

“...Busy?”

“Yep,” he concurs. “Right, Aang?”

“Afraid so,” confirms the Airbender, currently hanging upside-down from the ceiling by his frozen feet. 

“Actually,” Sokka says, turning to address the soldier face-to-face, “while you’re here, think you could bring us some breakfast? And some snacks? _Meat_ snacks?” 

“I- yes?”

“Great! Oh, and some more paints! I’m running low on red, and a _lot_ relies on red."

“...of course.” The soldier ducks out before Sokka can think of any more inane things which need retrieving. 

Zuko frowns. “The chief wants to see you?”

“Apparently,” Aang confirms as he drops from the ceiling, cushioned by a ball of air.

“...shouldn’t you be _meeting_ with him, then?” 

“Probably,” Sokka says. “Stop talking, I’m doing your jawline.” He squints. “...You’ll have a beard in this.” 

“It could be important,” Zuko stresses.

“Could be,” Katara agrees as she continues to practice streaming water. “Like this, Aang?”

“A little more…” He wiggles his fingers abstractly, “ _watery_.”

“Shouldn’t you _check?”_ Zuko presses, flabbergasted. What is _wrong_ with them?

“Nah,” Sokka dismisses. “Too busy.”

“Doing _what?”_

“Staying _here,_ ” Katara answers simply, bending the water back into the wall.

“...staying here?”

“Yep,” Sokka confirms. “Until they meet our very reasonable demands, no talking to the chief, no updates on Fire Nation intel, and no _help_ if they need it. Plus, it makes them look bad. It’s not great PR to imprison the Avatar.” 

“You’re _imprisoning_ yourselves?” Zuko clarifies, horrified. “On _purpose?_ What if there’s an _emergency?!”_

Aang cocks his head. “I _mean…_ ” With a gesture the wall behind him melts, revealing several startled soldiers. Aang waves cheerfully even as they frantically reseal the cell. The Airbender turns back to Zuko. “We’re not really _imprisoned._ This is more of a... _peaceful protest_.”

Zuko shakes his head. While he understands the impulse, he doubts this will work. Pakku isn’t exactly tripping over himself to win the favor of the Avatar, and he doesn’t seem like the type to cow to pressure. He probably won’t even _notice_ the protest, much less change his mind. “Why not just keep teaching her yourself? She’s already improving.” 

Aang and Katara blink owlishly as Sokka huffs out a laugh. “This isn’t about Katara’s _Waterbending_ training, Zuko.”

Zuko frowns, confused. “What?”

“We’ve _tried_ getting it through to them that this is wrong,” he explains. “You’re not a _threat_ , you’re just a _kid_ who’s been imprisoned indefinitely without a trial, locked up by ice.”

“I’m not a _kid_ ,” Zuko gripes, trying to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach, “and I _am_ a threat." 

“Exactly! So we’ll stay where we can keep an _eye_ on you."

"You could get in _trouble_ ," Zuko stresses.

Katara scoffs. "What are they gonna do, throw us in _jail?"_

Sokka nods. "Sorry, Zuko, but Operation: Cold Shoulder is a _go._ If they need to talk to the World’s Last Hope, they know exactly where to find us.” He pats the floor. “The _craft corner.”_

\----

It turns out civil disobedience consists primarily of sitting around listening to different gift ideas. “A _painting_ is just so _formal_ ,” Sokka explains, possibly because his portrait has received universal poor reviews. Zuko doesn’t have freckles, and his hair is definitely not that _poofy._ “But what do princesses even _like_?” He considers Zuko shrewdly. “ _You_ have a little sister. What’s _she_ into?”

It’s a harder question than it should be. “...She doesn’t like dolls?”

“...That helps,” Sokka praises politely. “Is there anything she _does_ like?”

Zuko shrugs. 

“The girls I knew liked flowers,” Aang suggests helpfully. “They weren’t Princesses, but who _doesn’t_ like flowers? _I_ like flowers!” He glances at Katara. “You like flowers, don’t you?”

She’d been staring at Zuko. She startles at the question, then offers, “I guess?”

“Okay,” Sokka allows, “but where do I get flowers? We’re in the North Pole, not the happy funtime meadow.”

Aang opens his mouth, then deflates. 

Katara turns back to Zuko. “I didn’t know you had a sister," she says. 

“Azula,” he confirms awkwardly. The last time they’d talked, she’d idly bragged about how Father had asked her advice on some naval strategy. It may not have even been true, but it'd sent him stalking out into the hall anyway, determined to take on more responsibilities. Determined to prove he could _handle_ it. The last time he’d actually seen her was in the stands, watching and smiling. Since then, he'd only heard from her in snide, mocking letters. He'd saved every one. As angry as they made him, they'd still been a piece of home and normalcy, something his Father had not seen fit to give him. He wonders, suddenly, whether they're lost now, the useless keepsakes of a dead and banished Prince. “We wrote, when I first left," he comments, not sure why he even mentions it, "but she got bored fast. I never had anything new to report, anyway. Well, not until...” He nods towards Aang, and the Airbender waves. 

Katara regards him with soft eyes. Maybe she's thinking about how _she'd_ feel if Sokka had vanished from her life so dramatically. He doesn't bother mentioning that Azula's only reaction was amusement. "What is she like?” 

He blinks. He’s never had to _describe_ her to anyone _._ “She’s smart. _Strong_. A Firebending prodigy.” He shifts. “My Father used to say I was too much like my mother. Azula was _always_ more like him.” The siblings exchange a meaningful look, and Zuko feels the strange need to defend a little sister who’d never needed defending. As if being compared to the Fire Lord was a _bad_ thing. He swallows back the impulse as Katara latches onto the first part of his sentence, each of them neatly sidestepping the elephant donkey in the room.

“Dad always said I was more like Mom, too,” she volunteers, smiling, obviously pleased by the comparison. “What’s your mother like?”

“She…” Zuko has no idea how to describe her, either. She’d often seemed pensive, nearly sad, but this had never overshadowed her innate kindness, nor the fondness in her smile when she looked at him. “She was patient,” he says, voice inexplicably rougher than it’d been. “She cared about people.” 

Katara’s smile shadows at the past tense, and her eyes crease in sympathy. Her hand finds his and rests there. “She sounds like she was an amazing woman.” 

“No,” Zuko rushes to say, pulling away guiltily. He knows what happened to _her_ mother. He hadn’t meant to- to imply _that._ “She’s alive. She’s just gone.”

She no longer looks achingly empathetic, at least. Now she just looks _confused._ “...Gone?”

“She left,” Zuko explains.

If Katara’s expression is any metric, it isn’t much of an explanation. Zuko can sympathize. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t understand. Where did she go?”

“Well,” he falters, then decides to just get _on_ with it. They already know the worst about him. This is just _courtier gossip_. There’s no leveraging this information against anyone still around. “After my cousin died, my Father petitioned for Uncle to be stripped of his birthright to the throne. He said he wasn’t committed, that he was- was _weak._ But Fire Lord Azulon-” He shakes his head, remembers the strange sensation of worrying _for_ his Father, the visceral fear he’d felt as he ran away, leaving Azula alone behind the curtains. “He disagreed. He wanted my Father to feel the pain of losing _his_ firstborn, and so he ordered my death-”

Sokka blanches.

“That’s what Azula said, anyway,” Zuko amends quickly. “I wasn’t there for that part, and she _always_ lies.” 

“I thought Gran Gran was bad for making me drink _blubber,_ ” Sokka grumbles, dragging a hand back through his hair.

“That’s still bad,” Zuko assures.

“But what happened?” Katara asks. “I mean, you’re _alive_. Did your Grandfather change his mind?” She somehow manages to sound both hopeful and incredibly _doubtful._

“No. I don’t know exactly what happened,” he admits, “but when I woke up, my mother was gone, my grandfather was dead, and my father was crowned Fire Lord.” In the stunned, slightly _awkward_ silence that follows, Zuko concludes, “And so that’s why she’s gone. But not dead. I just don’t know where she is. Yet.”

“...she vanished the night the Fire Lord died?” Katara reiterates slowly. 

“He was old,” Zuko says defensively. Healer Fáng Zi suspected there was more to it than that, but those were _suspicions_ , not _allegations._ Father hadn’t pursued them. 

Sokka sits down beside him on the bed with a tired little whuff. “You know, I’m starting to think you might be downright _normal_ by Fire Nation standards.” 

It’s a joke. Zuko _registers_ that. But- “My mother wasn’t like them. She-she didn’t _care_ whether I was a good Firebender, or the perfect prince.” After she’d left, Azula and Father barely acknowledged that she’d ever existed. They used her memory like a weapon _._ He glances at the plays he’s already read, carefully rolled and organized by genre. She was more than the unhappy ending she’d had. “We used to go to the theater on Ember Island every summer," he tells them. "She showed me how to play the tsungi horn. She even tried to teach me to fold-” He jerks up, startled. “You could make your own!”

Sokka blinks, startled by the force of the exclamation. “Uh, what?”

“You don’t have to _look for_ flowers. You could...” He loses confidence in this plan. “...make your own?”

“The date is _tonight,_ ” Sokka notes, blatantly baffled by the change in subject. “Unless you know how to flora bend-”

“With paper,” Zuko explains awkwardly. “You fold them.”

Katara shifts forward, curious. “You know how to do that?”

“She taught me,” he says, blushing. “Well, _tried_ to. I was never _good_ at it- I usually just set them on fire- but I think I remember how to do it.” 

Sokka tears a bit of blank paper, handing it over.

It’s not the crisp, special paper his mother had had, and his fingers, despite being old enough to know better, are about as skilled as they’d been when he was eleven. But his audience watches raptly as he crafts his crumpled snowball, listens as he gives instructions he can’t seem to follow properly, and, despite the poor example, Aang catches on. He even manages to fold something actually resembling a flower. Of _course_ he’d be a prodigy in Paperbending, too. 

Sokka paints strips of paper in bright blues, yellows, reds, and greens, and when they’re dry (sometimes naturally, sometimes with a careful combination of Waterbending and Airbending), they fold them into flowers, affixing the tightly rolled green paper as ersatz stems.

None of the flowers are identical, few of them symmetrical, and only one or two actually resemble what they should. _All_ of Zuko’s look like squashed pinecones. But when they’re all together, the mistakes don’t seem to matter as much.

He thinks his mother would have liked it. 

Sokka’s shoulder bumps against his. “Thanks, buddy,” he says. 

Zuko smiles.

\----

Sokka complains about being a starving artist, and so Aang slips away to obtain lunch supplies, an empty teapot, and Momo. Katara bends water into the teapot, which Zuko talks Aang through warming. Zuko then prepares and steeps the tea leaves, relying on vague memories of watching Uncle Iroh do it three thousand times. When it’s finished brewing, he proudly pours his concoction into the waiting cups. 

They thank him, then take their first sips. 

Zuko has captured Aang a _lot_ , and he's never seen him look so miserable. Katara, to her credit, _tries_ to smile, even if it comes out as more of a grimace. Sokka makes no such attempt _._

"Ah," he says, setting his tea cup down and frowning seriously up at Zuko. "So you're still angry." 

Zuko glares at him, then takes a sip. It _tastes_ like stewed leaves. “It tastes fine!” 

“Maybe the water...went bad?” Katara offers.

“Does water do that?” Aang asks.

“...not _usually."_

“Fine,” Zuko snaps, crossing his arms. “ _Don’t_ drink it. What do I care? I’ll drink it myself.”

“Zuko, this martyrdom habit of yours is getting out of hand,” Sokka chides.

Zuko doesn’t break eye contact as he chugs the remainder of the hot leaf juice, then slams the teapot down. “ _Delicious,"_ he insists through the bitter aftertaste, tongue coated in bits of leaves.

Instead of being convinced, they burst into laughter. Zuko is beginning to think he’ll never be able to intimidate these people again.

Full of warm, passable tea, the idea doesn’t really bother him. He rests back against his bed, nibbles at the last of his meal, and watches as Katara and Aang bend small, horrific snowmen from the ice, whizzing them around the room as Momo gives chase. The creature screeches excitedly as he leaps between the two targets. When he finally tackles one, he licks its head, shivers, and collapses with brain freeze. 

This time, when they laugh, Zuko joins in. 

\----

When Aang sits to meditate for his Firebending training, Katara sits beside him. Zuko notes when they should straighten, helps guide them when their breaths sound uneven or hurried, and leaves them be when they finally seem in sync. 

“I think the sun is setting,” he notes, glancing at Sokka.

Sokka raises his eyebrows. “You can sense that again? That's great! Creepy, obviously, but great." 

“Took long enough,” Zuko grumbles. If progress is this slow, when is he going to be able to Firebend again? He shakes off the thought. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

“You know, I was thinking-” Sokka shrugs casually. “This is probably a bad idea and I should skip it.”

“A bad idea?” Zuko repeats doubtfully.

Sokka begins to pace. “It's just- _she’s_ a Princess, and I’m a-” 

“Go on your date,” Zuko orders him flatly. 

"We spent _hours_ making those flowers-" Katara starts to say.

"Don't talk to him," Zuko interrupts. "Breathe."

She huffs, which is technically breathing.

“We’re in the middle of a protest,” Sokka argues, sitting beside him on the bed, voice quieter to try to deter eavesdropping sisters. His nerves remain loud. 

“The protest will go on without you. It's not like you're leaving to do anything _helpful._ "

" _Okay_ , but-"

“Just go!” Zuko insists, shoving him lightly, surprised when the Water Tribesman flails dramatically and falls right off of the bed. He panics, momentarily, because _why had he done that_ , but Sokka doesn't seem _angry._

Sprawled out on the floor, he just grins up at him. “Such a jerk.”

“How is she supposed to like you if you keep ditching her?” Zuko demands, helping him to his feet. 

"That's...a fair point." He frowns and taps his hair. “Does my hair look stupid?”

"...It’s part of your charm.”

“You think I’m _charming_?” Sokka wonders smarmily, kneeling to carefully collect the faux bouquet from the craft corner. 

“I think you’re obnoxious,” Zuko replies, crossing his arms. “Some people _mistake_ that for charming.” 

“Lucky them,” Sokka says, tapping lightly on the ice. “Wish me luck?”

“It’s a _date,_ not a _battle."_

Sokka waits.

“Fine, _goodluck_ , just leave!” 

Sokka deftly dodges the pillow Zuko throws, then clambers through the wall, adding over his shoulder, "Don't wait up!"

\----

When Yugoda arrives to check on Zuko that night, she looks exhausted. She scans the faces of the three occupants, then says, “Avatar Aang. Katara. Chief Arnook would like to see you in his chambers immediately.” 

“I’d be happy to meet with him,” Aang assures. "He knows where we are." 

"And where we're going to stay," Katara adds, "until he agrees to treat Zuko as an honored _guest_ , and not as a prisoner.”

Yagoda frowns. “I'm afraid that is not possible.”

“It’s possible,” Katara counters, annoyed. “He just doesn't want to do it.”

She inclines her head slightly, acknowledging the words but not necessarily confirming them. “Chief Arnook understands your position, but if you continue with this behavior, the Northern Water Tribe can no longer provide healing for its enemy.”

Aang's eyes go wide. "You can't do that!" 

"I follow the orders of my Chief." 

“If you don’t help him, he could _die,_ ” Katara argues furiously.

“...He could,” Yugoda agrees after a moment, frowning up at her student, “if no one helps him.” 

It seems like a threat to Zuko, but Katara seems to hear something else. “Me?” She asks, baffled, fury fleeing. 

“You have good instincts,” says the old Healer. “Follow them instead of fighting them. There is so much _more_ to Waterbending than fighting, Katara.” She sighs, almost disappointed. “You could do so much good.” 

“I will,” Katara assures her. “It’s not a matter of choosing one or the other, Master Yugoda. It’s _getting_ to choose.” 

Yugoda smiles faintly. “You remind me of a very old friend.” She steps forward, taking Katara’s hands in her own. “She too fought to find her own way, and she found it, just as I trust you will.”

“...you’re really not going to help?”

“No,” Yugoda confirms. “But you don’t really _need_ my help, do you?” She releases her hold and turns to go. She adds, over her shoulder just before the wall reseals, “I’ll inform Chief Arnook of your decision.” 

\----

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Aang asks nervously.

“Of course I do,” Katara says, much too quickly to be the truth.

“It’s just- we don’t want to make him _sicker._ ” 

“Can that happen?” Zuko wonders, trying not to sound too worried. 

“No,” she assures him, before snapping over her shoulder, “Stop scaring my patient.”

“Sorry,” Aang says as Zuko grumbles,

“I’m not _scared.”_

“Here,” she says, ignoring both comments as she grabs Aang’s wrist and pulls his hand to Zuko’s abdomen, “you should practice anyway. Just pay attention to what I’m doing, okay? And...maybe tell me if it seems like I’m doing something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Zuko echoes. 

“ _Nothing_ is going to go wrong,” Katara assures him. “Just- uh. _Relax._ We can do this.” She breathes out slowly as she begins to bend the water over Zuko’s injury. He feels that strange feeling again, surreal and almost uncomfortable, and he squeezes his fists tight to avoiding grimacing.

“...how are you _doing_ that?” Aang wonders.

Katara breaks from her concentration. “Aang,” she complains. “I was focusing!”

“You were manipulating his _lifeforce_ ,” Aang counters. “This is- it’s _spiritual_ healing.”

Zuko frowns. His spirit is broken? That sounds... bad?

“I’m working with his chi,” Katara corrects sternly. “That’s what Master Yugoda taught me to do.” She hesitates. “Is that...bad?”

“It’s _amazing!"_ Aang exclaims. "I didn’t know you could do that!”

Katara blushes as she realizes she’s being complimented, not chastised. “Oh. Thank you, Aang.”

Aang beams, and suddenly _he’s_ blushing, too.

Zuko wonders if he has to be here to be healed. 

\----

“That felt like progress,” Katara says somewhere to his left. “Try and get some sleep.”

Zuko doesn't have to try very hard. 

\----

He's only half-awake when Sokka returns. He’s not grinning or rambling, which is a bad sign. He beelines to the bed, and Zuko sleepily shifts over to give him room. 

Katara sits beside him, worried. “...Sokka?” She rests a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“She’s engaged,” he replies tonelessly.

She blinks. "What?"

“As in to be _married_ ," he confirms, an edge to his voice now. "To a stupid, self-absorbed, hair-flipping _weasel._ What kind of name is _Hahn,_ anyway _?”_ His tone shifts low, from cartoonish revulsion to a very sincere consternation. “I don’t think she even _likes_ him. The second she saw him, she just- _completely_ stopped smiling." 

“Why is she getting married to him if he’s so awful?” Aang wonders from somewhere beyond Zuko’s immediate vision. The weight of the bed shifts, and the suitable-for-exactly-one-person cot groans. Ah, there he is.

Zuko moves to accommodate the growing number of bedfellows.

“It was arranged,” Sokka answers, frowning. He glances at Katara and his tone goes deceptively light. “Side note, Mom’s necklace is apparently an _engagement_ necklace. Guys make them when they want to get married. Did you know that?”

She shakes her head. “Dad didn’t carve it, did he?”

"Dunno. But I _do_ know _Hahn_ sucks at carving.” He sits forward in a slump, and everyone rearranges to make room. “Oh, who I am kidding. It was _artful._ My fish was barely a _fish_.”

"...I liked your fish," Zuko offers, voice still rough from sleep.

Sokka glances at him with a thin, amused smile. "Thanks, buddy." His expression turns thoughtful. “You know, she wouldn’t be the _first_ royal we kidnapped for their own good.” 

“You shouldn’t make a habit of that,” Zuko asserts. “This isn’t going great.” 

“I disagree,” Sokka replies, crossing his arms. “Frankly, this is going a _lot_ better than I expected.”

“I’ve been _stabbed_ and we’re _prisoners._ ”

“We _started_ as prisoners,” Sokka counters, “and we’re prisoners on _purpose_ this time. That’s improvement.” 

“And the _stabbing?”_

“Let’s face it, you were probably gonna get stabbed anyway. It’s just a _vibe_ you put out. Also you jump in front of spears.” 

Zuko snorts, but Katara responds before he can. “Zuko is right, Sokka. We can’t kidnap everyone we meet.”

“That shouldn’t stop us from _trying_.”

She ignores him. “There’s a lot wrong with this place. And I mean a _lot,"_ she adds emphatically. "And I agree we should help however we can to make it better. But it’s up to Yue to make her own decisions.”

“But this is _wrong,_ ” Sokka argues. “She’s going to be _miserable_. She thinks she _has_ to do it, but she _doesn’t-!_ ” 

“It’s her choice,” Katara stresses. “Talk to her. If she really doesn’t want to marry Hahn, we’ll support her. She can even come with us, if she wants _._ But it has to be _her_ decision.” 

Sokka swallows. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I guess.”

“...did she at least like the present?” Aang asks.

Sokka lies back and stares at the ceiling. “...She said it was the nicest gift she’d ever gotten.” 

\----

The next morning is a great deal like the morning which had preceded it. 

Aang and Katara practice the few Waterbending moves Aang had learned, while Sokka and Zuko sit watching, each brooding in their own way. Momo is curled in Zuko's lap, trilling in sleepy satisfaction as he scratches his ears, soaking up all the warmth the Firebender can offer. At the moment, Sokka is a better brooder.

When the Waterbenders finish their morning training, Aang shifts into his Firebending stance and Zuko talks him through building his flame. It has just come alive in the Airbender's palm when Pakku collapses the cell wall. 

Aang panics and his fire follows suit, exploding out wild and hot. Zuko barely manages to snuff it before it can grow further.

Pakku frowns down at the wheezing Firebender and the wide-eyed Airbender and drawls, “If you’re training my pupil, Prince Zuko, I might suggest working on _discipline._ ”

Zuko is too out of breath to suggest not _startling_ a novice _Firebender._ He hopes his glare gets the point across, anyway. 

Aang steps forward, still surprised but recovering far better than Zuko. “Master Pakku.” 

“Avatar Aang,” Pakku greets in return, scanning the boy with a frown. “You don’t appear sick.”

“...thanks?” 

“If you aren't _ill_ , I can think of no excuse for your missing two days of Waterbending Training.”

“He wanted to make sure his friend was safe,” Katara explains, standing from the bed. “And since his friend was in a _cell_ , the only way to be _sure_ was to _stay_ with him.”

Pakku raises an eyebrow. “I see. So this is, _what?_ An ill-conceived attempt at forcibly coercing the members of our tribe to risk their homes and families for a violent enemy with a short temper?”

“Well,” Aang hedges, “ _we’re_ calling it a peaceful protest.” 

“Whatever you call _it_ , _he_ is a prisoner of war and will be treated as such. Unless you’ve succeeded in convincing him-”

“We’re not here to convince him,” Sokka replies snappishly. “We’re here to end this war, and all _you_ people seem to want to do is waste _time._ ”

Pakku doesn't react to the acerbic comment; he just watches Zuko. “And what, _exactly,_ is it that Prince _Zuko_ wants?”

Zuko glares back at him, unsure how to actually _answer_. He wants his fire back. He wants to be out of this cell. He wants _Uncle._ He wants to contact his father, he thinks, maybe, and he _should_ want to get as far from these people as he can get.

Most of all, he wants time to think, and he wants to be better at thinking. 

When he doesn’t answer, Sokka predictably takes the reins. “Do you know why diplomats in the Earth Kingdom _always_ hold their negotiations on the most boring, unremarkable patch of dirt they can find?”

Pakku’s eyes snap to the Water Tribesman. He seems irritated by the question. “They _don’t._ ”

“Okay, but I’m doing a thing. Do you know why?”

Pakku scowls at Sokka as lesser men might scowl at their mortal enemy.

“They _do_ it,” Sokka says, “because the first step in _any_ good negotiation is finding common ground. We want an audience with the council. We want them to actually _talk_ to Zuko instead of talking _about_ him. And we want him out of this cell.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Pakku flatly, “but I cannot allow that. He is a _threat._ ”

“He's our _friend_ ,” Katara corrects, stepping forward. She glares up at Pakku as she had once glared at Zuko. He's grateful not to be on the receiving end. “Either treat him that way, or _we’ll_ treat him as if he really _is_ a prisoner.”

“As a head’s up, we’re _very_ good at prison breaks,” Sokka adds. “We’ve had a worrying amount of experience.” 

“Are you trying to threaten me?” Pakku demands sharply.

“Oh, right, sorry, old man ears. I’ll threaten louder next time.” 

“Of all the insubordinate, _crass_ -!”

“We’re not trying to insult you,” Aang interrupts hastily, stepping between the Water Bending master and the guy with a boomerang (currently boomerang-less).

“ _I_ am,” mutters Sokka sourly, ignored by everyone. 

“We only want to end this war,” the Airbender continues. “Whether or not you approve, Zuko _is_ our friend. We’ve been patient, but I refuse to let him sit in this cell any longer.”

“Then you won’t learn from me,” Pakku retorts.

Aang's expression is illegible for a moment. He then presses his hands together and delivers a shallow bow. “Then I thank you for what you've shown me. We’ll be going.” 

Pakku’s eyes widen. So do Zuko’s. 

“And where will you go?” Pakku wonders, recovering well from his surprise. “I am the most accomplished Waterbending Master in the world.”

“Wow,” drawls Sokka, “ _bummer._ Guess we’ll settle for the _second_ most accomplished Waterbending master in the world. I personally don’t think the people getting splashed will really notice the difference.” 

Pakku’s eyebrow twitches. “I do _not_ -”

“Aang,” Zuko interrupts, stepping forward. “Don’t do this.”

Aang frowns back at him. “Why not? You heard what he said."

Zuko doesn't have a good answer. He should _want_ Aang to be unprepared, really, shouldn't he? But they'd spent _months_ traveling to the North Pole. He shouldn't throw this chance away for _Zuko._ "You need to learn," he says dumbly. "You're the _Avatar_." 

"I’m also an Airbender,” Aang replies steadily, "and I won't abandon their teachings. I'm not going to fail my friend." He turns back to Pakku. “I've made my decision. If you'd like to change yours, I suggest you do it soon." 

Pakku's gaze flickers from Zuko to Aang. “I will consider this further,” he informs the Avatar flatly, “and confer with Chief Arnook.”

“You do that,” Sokka calls after him flippantly. 

\----

Less than an hour later, a soldier comes to bring them to Chief Arnook.

With Zuko? They ask.

No, comes the answer.

So they don’t go. They’re _protesting._

And so Pakku comes back. 

“I grow tired of this game,” he announces in lieu of a greeting. 

“Us, too,” Sokka says, glancing up from the sword he'd been sharpening. “Ready to play ball instead?” 

“You’ll have an audience with the council this afternoon,” Pakku confirms. “I suggest you prepare a very good argument.” 

\---- 

Caldera was warm, in every way that a city _could_ be. Here, everything is _cold._ Zuko's breath tumbles out a gray fog, the buildings rise around him in varying shades of _white_ , and the people glowering at him as he passes are dressed in muted blue. He scowls back at them.

When they finally reach the largest building, something these people probably call a palace, Zuko is glared at by a lot more _armed_ people. Since he's unarmed, he glares harder.

"I know it's a frosty reception right now," Sokka says at his side, "but they'll warm up to you."

"Because I'm such a talented diplomat?" Zuko seethes.

" _Exactly_ ," he confirms with a genial path on the back. 

When they reach the chamber, they're told to _wait._ Zuko feels more like running than waiting, but he still follows Aang to a small inlet where they can almost pretend they have privacy. The illusion is broken quickly.

"Prince Zuko, I presume?"

It only takes looking at Sokka’s love-sick expression to understand to whom that voice belongs. “Princess Yue," he greets, turning to face her. She’s different than he imagined. For one, she’s not a lemur. For another, everything about her is soft: her voice, her hair, her smile, her _eyes_. Her hands are clasped demurely at her waist, her clothes are unwrinkled finery. Where Sokka is brash, she’s nearly _bashful._

At her temple, just above her ear, a blue paper flower is tucked into her braid. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she tells him, sounding as if she means it. “Sokka has told me a lot about you.” 

Zuko doesn’t buy it. He narrows his eyes. “Has he?”

“I’m afraid so.” Her voice is almost teasing. “Turtleducks?”

Zuko flushes fiercely, turning to Sokka with a scowl.

“I didn’t want her to be scared of you!” Sokka defends himself hastily. “It was for your benefit!” He turns to Yue, exasperated. “Did you _have_ to mention the Turtleducks?”

She raises a hand to her mouth, hiding her smile. “You didn’t know what they looked like, and I was very curious.”

All eyes are suddenly on Zuko. “I- they’re- they’ve got shells. And feathers-?” 

“And little beaks,” Aang adds supportively. 

“Thanks, Aang,” he mutters. 

“Now, Yue,” Sokka says, thankfully drawing attention away from Zuko’s vermillion face, “we do have _one_ major request for this hearing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Please don’t ask hard-hitting questions,” he begs. “We’re very underprepared.” 

“Don’t worry,” she says with a laugh, “I’m only here to observe, of course.”

“...of course?” Katara echoes, nose wrinkled as if she already doesn’t like where this is going. 

Zuko glances back to Yue, puzzled. The Princess seems just as confused. “It's tradition that only our men speak during council meetings. Isn’t that how it is in the South?”

“Women aren’t allowed to _speak?”_ Katara repeats, scandalized. 

“We can speak after the meeting,” Yue hurries to assure her. “I often offer my Father counsel when it’s appropriate.”

“ _Appropriate?”_ Katara’s voice is a squeak. 

Sokka sets a hand on her shoulder. “Katara, calm down." 

“ _Calm down-!?”_

“Okay, can you stop just repeating everything we say?”

 _“Repeating everything you-”_ She cuts herself off, then shakes off his hand. “Why are you telling me to calm down? That's _horrible!”_

“Because there’s a _loophole_.” Katara waits almost patiently. “Yelling isn’t technically _speaking._ And you’re _great_ at yelling!”

Yue bursts into surprised laughter, and quickly brings her hands up to cover her mouth. “That’s ridiculous, Sokka,” she chastises fondly. Sokka preens.

“We shouldn’t need a _loophole_ ,” Katara grumbles, crossing her arms.

“ _Everyone_ should have a voice,” Aang agrees firmly. 

Yue smiles. “That’s a very nice sentiment, Avatar Aang.” 

Before she can say another word, an arm snakes around her waist, just a little too tight. The attached teen sidles up to her, regarding the gaang critically. His attention lingers on Zuko. On the _scar._ “Guess you’re the big bad Fire Prince," he remarks. "You're scrawnier than I expected.”

Zuko scowls and steps forward, ready for whatever this altercation is, when Katara loops her arm through his. “Hahn, I’m guessing?”

Hahn leers, then taps his head to the side, flipping his hair out of his face. “Guess word gets around. What should I call you, gorgeous?”

Katara loops her other arm around Sokka’s, pulling _him_ back, too. “ _Katara_ is fine.” 

“Yes, she is,” the teen agrees, and then _Aang_ is stepping forward, and Katara has no arms to pull him back. Hahn continues before any eyes start glowing. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to head into the Council Meeting. I’m the future chief, you know.”

“You don’t say,” Sokka says flatly. 

“Sure am,” Hahn concurs obliviously. “You two have your work cut out for you,” he adds. “ _No one_ wants that soot stain free." 

Katara frowns as she responds, tone polite but itching to be otherwise, "I'm sure you'll feel differently after the hearing."

"We're in the middle of a _war_ ," Hahn reminds her, unimpressed. "I don't think I really want the Fire Lord's _spawn_ running around my city." 

"Zuko isn't his Father," she asserts, eyes narrowing. "You can't hold him responsible for what the Fire Lord has done." 

"Uh, maybe _you_ can't," he says, smirking, "but it sounds pretty easy to _me_ _._ " 

"That's not fair!" 

“ _That_ sounds more like a _you_ problem. No offense." He glances at the doors, flipping his hair again as he does so. "Look, I've gotta head in. You crazy kids get your game faces on. I’m rooting for you, gorgeous. Talk after?” Without waiting for an answer, he turns towards the committee room, pulling Yue along with him.

"Princess-” They still, and Yue glances over her shoulder. “I just wanted to say," Sokka begins, strained but earnest, "your hair. It looks lovely.”

Her expression melts into fondness. “Thank you, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.” Despite the formality of the words, his name sounds so _warm_ when she says it. 

“Wow,” Hahn mutters as he leads her away, “that guy is _weird._ Who notices _hair?_ ”

The Gaang glares after him.

“Okay,” says Katara, releasing the various men she’s trapped, “I'm with you. That guy is _terrible._ ” 

“The _worst_ ,” Aang agrees. Normally, he’d be the one preaching forgiveness. Zuko understands _viscerally_ why Hahn is the exception to that rule.

"Right?" Sokka grumbles, crossing his arms. "If that's his idea of courting a girl, I'd declare a mistrial." He lets out a defeated sigh. "But we have to rescue Zuko from ice jail before we can rescue _her_ from the wrath of Hahn. One thing at a time." 

\----

“You may enter,” says the flint-eyed guard at the council chamber doors, the one who hasn't stopped _staring_ at Zuko since they arrived.

“ _Finally,”_ Sokka groans, stomping that way. "What, did they take a nap first?"

Zuko follows, but every step he takes towards the door weighs him down, as if he were trudging through thick mud. He stutters to a stop, throat clogged. 

Sokka glances back him. “...Zuko?” 

“I-” He hesitates. "This is a bad idea." 

"Don't let Hahn get in your head," Katara tells him. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. This'll go fine." 

“I’m going to mess this up,” Zuko argues, refusing to take a step further. “I’m going to say something wrong.” 

“Please,” Sokka scoffs, “these guys have _the_ worst impression of you already. I don’t think you can do _anything_ to make it worse.” 

Zuko shakes his head. He feels as if he’s not breathing enough, but he can’t seem to get the air in. Every breath comes shallower than the last. “No," he insists. It feels like all he can say. 

Sokka considers him for half a second, then nods. “Okay.” He turns to Katara and Aang. “I’ll stay with Zuko. You two explain he’s moving into our rooms.” 

"Alright," Aang agrees readily. He smiles at Zuko. "In the meantime, Sokka can show you around the city! Wait till you see the wall! It’s _so_ tall. When I jumped off, it took ten seconds before I hit the water!”

“Just make sure he gets some food, too,” Katara insists. “He barely ate any of his breakfast.” 

“I’ll mete out some meat,” Sokka assures, “while you guys mete out some justice. If you can make Hahn cry, I'll do laundry for a _month_.”

Normally, Zuko might question the laundry thing,but right now, all he can focus on is the fact that they’re...not hesitating? Not arguing with him, or pressuring him, or- or anything. After all they’d done to get him this audience, after the arguments and protests and sacrifices and- and willingness to leave behind the greatest teacher in the _world_ -

"Just like that?" Zuko clarifies, either angry or relieved. It's hard to tell what he's feeling right now.

“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to,” Katara says in a very carefully casual voice, as if she’d practiced flippancy in the mirror. “We can handle this.”

“Plus, this might be a good negotiation technique,” Sokka decides, tapping his chin. “Probably. Somehow.”

Zuko huffs out a surprised laugh, and then wonders _why_ he’s surprised. This is just how they _are,_ isn’t it?“I'll go." 

“You’re sure?” Sokka asks, offering up one last out.

"I'm sure," Zuko confirms. 

If he messes up, they'll be there.

\----

Zuko enters the council chamber. It’s larger than he anticipated, with one long, tall table along the back wall. A dozen old and powerful men stare back at him, reviewing him in his oversized parka and his outgrown hair. 

He knows how he must look.

But he also knows how he feels. 

Sokka stands at his left, and Katara stands at his right, and the _Avatar_ leads the way, introducing him with a booming voice. Well, a _loud_ one, at least.

He can do this.

“Behold,” Aang says, bowing way too deeply, arms outstretched towards his companions. “Prince Zuko, of the Fire Nation!” 

Everyone beholds.

“Further behold!” Aang continues loudly.

Sokka steps forward, chin tapped high. 

“Sokka, of the Southern Water Tribe!”

“And finally, behold-”

“Welcome,” interrupts Chief Arnook, not yet irritated but _getting_ there, _“all_ of you. Master Pakku requested this meeting at your behest. I trust you have something more to say than _introductions,_ given your recent behavior.”

“We want a solution,” Sokka says with a nod. “There’s no need for Zuko to be in that cell. He should be with us. And he should have free range of the city.”

Chief Arnook raises an eyebrow. “That’s quite a bit of trust you’re asking of us, Tribesman Sokka.”

Sokka meets his gaze, expression serious. “It wouldn’t be misplaced.”

Chief Arnook nods. “Very well. As is customary, I open the floor to my councilmembers. Ask whatever questions you like. I will reserve my final judgment for the end of the hearing.” With that, he leans back in his chair, hands laid over his lap, apparently choosing to remain on the sidelines of whatever comes next.

Zuko breathes slowly. 

He’s not there. He’s here. He can do this.

“Good morning,” says one of the Council Members, stroking idly at his thin beard. “It’s good to see you again, Tribesman Sokka.”

Sokka inclines his head. “Councilman Selai.” 

“My first question should be an _obvious_ one _._ You want to give a _foreign Prince_ total freedom in our city. What’s to stop him from stealing intelligence and sending it home to his Father? Or from sabotaging our defenses? How do we know he’s not a _spy_ _?”_

“For one thing,” Sokka answers, sounding as if he’d like to roll his eyes and is just _barely_ refraining, “he’d be the worst spy maybe _ever._ For another, there are wanted posters with the royal seal scattered all over the Earth Kingdom, and Fire Nation soldiers come from out of _nowhere_ to try and kill him. The Fire Nation doesn’t want him to spy; it wants him _dead_.”

“He doesn’t want me dead,” Zuko interrupts without thinking, and suddenly everyone is staring at him. He’d spoken out of turn, he thinks, heart racing. But no. No, he’s _allowed_ to speak here. This is _his_ hearing. He swallows shakily and adds, “But I’m not a spy.”

“So who are we supposed to believe here?” Selai wonders dryly. “Because it seems like maybe there’s been some _confusion_ in getting your stories straight.”

Sokka shakes his head. “Not really. I said he wasn’t a spy, and _he_ said he wasn’t a spy. It’s just the _details_ that we disagree on.”

“The darkest spirits hide in the details,” Pakku remarks, tenting his fingers. “Prince Zuko’s loyalties are no trifling matter. We need to know them.”

“My loyalties are with my nation,” Zuko informs him.

Sokka slaps his forehead.

“Is that so?” Pakku asks, sitting forward. “And what does this loyalty entail, exactly? It’s obviously not a problem for the Avatar, who, by all rights, is an _enemy_ of your nation.”

Zuko swallows, mouth dry. Everyone is staring at him. Worse, he’s about to say something he might regret. “The Avatar isn't my enemy,” he says, and his voice is almost steady. “We both want to end this war. I believe we can reach a compromise.” 

One of the other Councilors scoffs. “The Fire Nation isn’t much known for its diplomacy.” 

Zuko’s heart pounds. He might be committing treason again. “That’s why it needs to _change._ ”

Pakku raises an eyebrow. Zuko suspects that’s as surprised as he can look. 

“And is such diplomacy within the _realm_ of a banished Prince’s power?” Selai wonders snidely. 

“I’ll _make_ it within my power."

“And, _what,_ we’re just supposed to trust you?” Hahn grouses. “How are we supposed to believe _any_ of this? The guy is an _Ashmaker._ ”

“I trust Zuko,” Aang says firmly, stepping forward. “You can take his word as _mine._ ”

Zuko blinks at him, startled by the show of faith, and Aang beams back at him. 

“You wouldn’t be the first person he betrayed,” Selai comments, frowning. “He’s a traitor to his own nation.”

Zuko wilts back, face burning.

Beside him, all three Gaang members bristle. It’s Katara who responds first: “Zuko has proven himself trustworthy, Councilman Selai. He’s a _friend._ You can doubt our plan, but don’t doubt his _honor._ ” 

“Hush, girl,” Selai chides dismissively. “Prince Zuko, how exactly-” 

“My name is _Katara_ , Councilman Selai,” she corrects firmly. 

“Whatever it is, be _quiet._ You’re only here out of respect to your tribe. That doesn’t entitle you to any additional special treatment. There are _rules_ to these proceedings, you know.”

Aang frowns. “The rules are wrong."

“And who are you to judge the traditions of our tribe?” Selai demands, sounding genuinely frustrated now. The hearing has barely begun, and it’s already gone wildly astray. “This is hardly the behavior of an _Avatar_.” 

“I mean, it _is_ ,” Zuko retorts, irritated.

The councilman leans forward, eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

Zuko freezes under the attention. Why had he said that? You can’t just _disrespect-_

“No, no, he’s right,” Sokka says, stepping up to stand beside Zuko, arms crossed and expression unimpressed. “Like it or not, Aang is the Avatar, and so technically everything he _does_ is the behavior of an Avatar. Plus, based on the stories _I’ve_ heard, I bet Kyoshi would be _way_ harder on you. You’re _lucky_ you got Aang.” 

“Yeah,” Katara agrees, flaunting the rule _again._ “Otherwise, spirits forbid, you’d be getting yelled at by an Avatar in a _dress._ ”

Councilman Selai throws his hands up. “This is ridiculous. Tribesman Sokka, remove your sister-” 

“ _Katara_ ,” she corrects again. “My _name_ is _Katara."_

Selai rolls his eyes, exasperated. “She is _obviously_ upset,” he tells Sokka testily. “Either remove her, or _we_ will.”

“Can I sell tickets first?”

At the very end of the dais, Yue pretends to cough. 

“This is pointless,” Hahn complains, crossing his arms. “All she’s doing is _whining_. No wonder girls aren’t allowed in here.”

“I’m sorry if my voice makes you feel weak,” Katara tells him, not sounding very sorry at all, “but that sounds more like a _you_ problem. _No offense_." 

Hahn scowls, but Selai just laughs. “You’re talking to _us_ about _weakness?_ You’re shouting at us in the last great bastion of the Water Tribe, _girl_. You came here because what _help_ would your little _village_ be?” 

Zuko assumed Katara was as angry as she could get. He might have underestimated her temper.

“You think you’re _strong_ because you _hid_ _?!_ We had a _quarter_ of your people!” The ice under her boots cracks in a jagged network of fractals. “And when the world needed our help, we didn’t turn our backs. We sent _every single_ warrior we had, because we knew this war was bigger than us!” 

“And where did _that_ get you?” He retorts, sneering.

She staggers back, looking as if she’s been physically wounded, but then marches forward with a new fire in her eyes. “How _dare_ you. You _cowardly_ -”

Pakku rolls his eyes as he idly bends ice up her legs, keeping her from throttling the councilman. “I think we’ve all had just about enough of this little girl’s-”

“My _name_ ,” she hisses, bending herself free effortlessly, “is _Katara_.” She storms forward, eyes narrow. “I am the daughter of _Kya,_ a woman who gave her life for her tribe and her children.” She slashes her arms through the air, dismissing another attempt to freeze her path. “I am the granddaughter of _Kanna_ , a woman who taught me the meaning of hope and the value of fighting _._ I am the last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe, I’ve fought more Fire Nation soldiers than you’ve _hidden_ from, and I am the _last_ person you want to call a _little girl!_ ”

For two seconds, the room is silent. Zuko can only hear his pounding heartbeat.

Then, 

“ _Wow_ ,” Hahn drawls, pretending to yawn. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“You’re supposed to be _quiet_ , actually,” Sokka replies, either flippant or genuinely irritated. It’s hard to tell, sometimes. “Maybe work on that.”

Hahn waves a hand indignantly. “You’re on her side? She’s hysterical!”

“No, _I’m_ hysterical. The only joke _she_ knows is _you._ ” 

He leaps to his feet. “Do you know who I _am?!”_ He snarls. 

“Yeah,” Sokka shoots back. “That’s kinda the _problem!”_

This seems like the cue for the council to erupt, some leaping to their feet, some slamming their fists on the table, and _all_ of them ignoring Chief Arnook as he vainly insists on civil discourse. Katara stands white-knuckled, not backing down despite the tsunami of vitriol and contempt, meeting every verbal attack with one of her own. Sokka stands shoulder-to-shoulder with her, offering up sharp-edged rebuttals to whoever who needs them most. This is often Hahn.

Aang and Zuko share a quick glance, deciding in silent unison to stay out of the way. There’s a lot going on here, and everyone seems to have forgotten the foreign Prince they’re supposed to be debating. 

Only one man remains seated at the dais, inexplicably divorced from the chaos raging around him. He repeats, quietly, “...Kanna?”

Katara doesn’t hear him. She’s too busy shouting about gender roles to half-deaf old men.

So Pakku stands, palms flat on the table, and demands, louder this time, “Did you say your Grandmother is named _Kanna_?” 

“Yeah,” says Sokka, taking a quick break from needling his romantic rival. “Let me guess: you’re so misogynistic you don’t believe in _Gran Grans_.”

Pakku doesn’t seem to register the jibe. His eyes crease, looking somewhere much further than the council chambers. “It _couldn’t_ be the same Kanna...it couldn’t...”

The bedlam dies down, every frothing-at-the-mouth councilman shifting towards their colleague with disquieted expressions. Zuko gets the feeling this is... unusual. From what little he knows of the Waterbending Master, he’s not easily thrown off. “I wonder,” he continues, more to himself than the rapt audience he’s developed, “could that be where she went?” 

Katara frowns. “...What are you talking about?”

“I knew a Kanna, once. A long, _long_ time ago." He frowns down at the cracks Katara has made in the ice. “We were due to be married. But one morning...” He trails off. When he speaks again, his voice has settled to something steadier. “I learned later a girl by her description had snuck aboard a trading vessel bound for the Mo Ce Sea. I searched everywhere for her, but there was no trace. She'd simply vanished. I didn’t- I _couldn’t_ understand. We loved each other...we were _happy..._ she had _just_ accepted my betrothal necklace…”

“The three waves,” Katara breathes, hand flying to her throat. 

Pakku stares as if she’s said something remarkable. “All along...She was there.” He collapses back into his seat, suddenly seeming the old man he is. “I loved her. And for sixty years, I’ve wondered whether she were alright. Where she went. _Why_ she left _._ ”

Katara stares for a moment, clearly processing the unexpected news. Then she laughs. Not a mild chuckle. She _guffaws._

Everyone stares. Zuko wonders if there’s a tradition saying women can’t _laugh_ in the council chambers.

“Are you _serious?”_ She demands. “Gran Gran is the strongest person I know. She kept our family from falling apart. She taught Sokka how to skin his first kill. She _led_ the village when Dad left. You wonder why she left?” She laughs again, but it doesn’t sound amused. “She was supposed to marry _you_ ? She was supposed to live in _this_ place? _You wonder why she left?”_

Pakku stares at her, eyes wide. “I-”

“Of _course_ she left you,” she snaps. “I’m just surprised it took so long.” 

Chief Arnook stands. “No matter who your grandmother is,” he says firmly, “you are a _guest_ here, and you _will_ show Master Pakku respect.” 

Katara meets Pakku’s eyes as she replies, voice icier than the floor she stands on, “My Gran Gran didn’t raise me to respect men like him.” 

With that, she pivots and storms out of the council chambers.

Sokka glances at Zuko and then at Aang.

“Well,” he says, turning back to the baffled council. “That’s our pitch. Think it over!” 

\----

They don’t walk back to the cell.

Instead, Katara stalks through the wide-walled halls of the palace, through a courtyard where the furious teen and the foreign Prince are given equally concerned looks, to their suite. Katara storms inside. Zuko is mildly impressed; he’s never seen a door slammed _open._

The suite is nice, if a little austere. A chaise lounge, a few bedrooms, a balcony overlooking the courtyard. It's probably opulent by the isolated tribe’s standards. Of course, it's hard to judge the feng shui with Katara pacing a trench into the ground. Sokka weaves around her, collapsing onto the lounge as if they hadn’t just screamed at every government official, and Aang plops down on the rug beside him.

Zuko lingers awkwardly. There’s a balcony. There’s an actual _door_ behind him, instead of an ice wall. Everyone is _distracted._ If he wanted to, he could probably just...go? 

“So, that was weird,” Sokka says, kicking his feet over the edge of the lounge. 

“He’s in love with Gran Gran!” Katara shouts furiously.

“Gran Gran is very lovable." 

"My Uncle is friends with him, too,” Zuko offers sympathetically, inching towards the balcony. Katara blinks at him, momentarily bewildered out of her temper, but he shrugs. He has no answers there.

“It’s not just him,” Aang says, pulling his knees to his chest. “Hahn was right. The council was _never_ going to change its mind.”

"They can call it a hearing all they want," Sokka agrees, frowning, "but no one there was actually _listening._ "

"And how is little girl even an insult?!" Katara demands, pacing some more. "When I was a little girl, I kept my village from falling apart! Smellerbee is a little girl, and she beats up Fire Nation soldiers all the time!” 

“When Azula was little,” Zuko offers, almost to the balcony and unsure what he'll do when he gets there, “she lured me onto a roof and pushed me off.” 

Katara stops in her trench and points at him. “That’s a great example, and that’s terrible. Aang, hug him.”

“Don’t,” Zuko orders firmly as Aang begins to stand. The Airbender dutifully sits back on his rug. 

“I’m getting our stuff from the cell,” Katara decides, turning to them, “and we’re getting out of here." 

"I'll come with you," Aang says, leaping up to follow her.

"Sounds good," Sokka agrees. "I’ll stay with Zuko and keep him from breaking his legs when he jumps off a third-story balcony onto _solid ice._ ”

“I wasn’t going to break my legs!” Zuko snaps.

“Ankles, then,” he allows. “You guys go."

They do. And then it’s just Zuko and Sokka, alone, in some freezing fortress where everybody wants to kill them.

It's almost nostalgic. 

Zuko glances at him. "We're really going?" 

Sokka shrugs. "We only came for Waterbending training, and after _that_ , I kinda doubt Pakku is desperate to train _either_ of them. And Katara can finish your healing, so, y'know, why stay?"

"I'm their prisoner," Zuko points out. "They might not like it if you help me escape." 

"They can shout any comments and concerns after us as we fly off," Sokka dismisses. "I'll be sure to jot them all down." 

Zuko smiles, equal parts amused and relieved, then wonders, "Yue?"

Sokka's expression dips serious. “I’ll stop by her room on our way out. It's up to her." 

Zuko bobs his head, then leans against the railing of the balcony. The city _is_ impressive. Cold, but impressive.

"What about you?"

Zuko glances over his shoulder. "Me?"

"When we get back to a non-ice town, it's going to be up to _you_ what you do next. Any ideas?" 

...no. He'd never considered that they'd just let him _go_ , even _after_ he'd decided they didn't want to hurt him. 

“It also doesn’t have to be something you decide right now,” Sokka mentions, apparently seeing the complete lack of planning in his eyes. “You can stay with us while you figure it out. And hey, no wrong answers.” 

“Even if I choose to capture the Avatar?” Even as he says it, the underlying threat feels flimsy. The minor doubts he'd had weeks ago about capturing Aang have solidified to something certain. The idea of acting on his Father's orders- those orders which had given him _hope_ for three long years- leaves him feeling hollow. He still says it, though, and wonders if it will make Sokka realize that he's just not worth the effort.

“Yep,” Sokka replies, popping the P, acting like what he’s saying _isn’t_ crazy. "But expect a lot more talking during fights. You know, asking for Firebending tips, Swordbending tips, maybe invitations to dinner-" 

Zuko huffs out a laugh. "So stupid."

Sokka grins. "Such a jerk." 

There's a knock on the door and both men stiffen. Aang wouldn't knock. Katara _definitely_ wouldn't knock. 

"Stay back a little," Sokka advises before calling, awkwardly, "Um, occupied?"

The door swings open and Pakku stalks inside, eyes scanning the room before locking onto Sokka. Zuko's blood freezes.

Of _course_. They'd disrespected him, dis _obeyed_ him, Sokka had mouthed off one too many times-

Zuko steps in front of him, hands fists, his absent Firebending the last thing on his mind. “Don’t touch him.” 

Pakku blinks, then frowns, then stops where he stands. Almost awkwardly, he raises his hands. “I wasn’t going to _hurt_ him, Prince Zuko."

Zuko narrows his eyes. “Then stay over there.”

“It’s alright, Zuko,” Sokka says, resting a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “The guy tries anything, I’ve got you, Katara, and the _Avatar_ to back me up. We’re safe.”

“I don’t care,” Zuko says, understanding the logic but not really feeling it. “He stays where he is.”

“...he stays where he is, then,” Sokka agrees. He turns to Pakku, eyebrow raised. “Got that?” 

Pakku nods slowly, eyes flickering between the two of them. “You inspire strange loyalties,” he notes.

Sokka shrugs. “We’re strange people. What other loyalties are we gonna inspire?” 

Pakku ignores this. “I’m here to speak to Katara.”

“Oh, she’s allowed to speak now?” 

“Is she here or not?” 

Sokka crosses his arms. "You're the wise old Master. Does it _look_ like she's here?"

Pakku frowns, then clasps his hands behind his back. "I'll wait, then." 

"Great," Sokka agrees sarcastically. "Make yourself at home."

He doesn't. He just stands awkwardly as one teen glares daggers and the other tries to whistle nonchalantly. 

"...you're Kanna's grandson, then?"

Sokka stops trying to whistle. He frowns. "Yes?"

Pakku shifts. "...And how is your grandfather?"

Sokka narrows his eyes. "We're not doing this." 

"I'm only asking-"

Zuko never gets to find out what he's only asking. In that moment, Appa appears just outside the balcony, Momo perched on his large, fluffy head. When the bison spots Zuko, he rumbles happily. The Prince reluctantly resists the urge to approach. He needs to focus. This could go very badly very quickly. 

"Hey, Katara," Sokka calls, tone strained. "Gran Gran's ex is here." 

Katara steps over the bannister with a frown, jumping to the ground without ever taking her eyes off of the Waterbending master. "I don't remember inviting him." 

"You brought a prisoner to a guest suite," Pakku replies mildly. "I do have _some_ right to be here." He turns away, expression unaffected. "In any case, I only came to tell you that, if you were still interested, class begins at _dawn._ I have no patience for tardy students, and will not be repeating myself simply because you felt like _sleeping in._ " 

Katara narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”

"An amendment: I won't be repeating myself because you don't pay _attention_ , either _._ " 

She shakes her head and clarifies, disbelievingly, “You're making an _exception_?" 

"No," Pakku denies, and her scowl deepens. "I'll be teaching anyone who demonstrates interest. You simply have potential, and I felt you should know."

"Ugh, just _apologize,"_ Sokka groans. 

Pakku blinks at him, frowning. “...Excuse me?”

“You’re sorry you were a jerk, right?” 

“I _-”_

“So don't do this weird bit. Just say _sorry_. ” 

Everyone stares at the Water Tribesman. Then, one by one, they look at Pakku. The Waterbending Master frowns down at these children who questioned his authority, who disrespected and _mocked_ him in a public forum. And, _impossibly,_ he says, “...I am. I _apologize_. The years should have made me the wise teacher you needed, but I’m afraid they only made me _crankier_.” He dips his head. “And I was a very cranky young man. Your grandmother could probably _attest_ to that, actually.”

Katara's hard expression softens. 

"That's _it?"_ Zuko blurts out, baffled. 

Pakku frowns at him. “I did not come here seeking forgiveness, Prince Zuko. I _am_ aware I behaved-” 

"This is a trick," he charges furiously, anger squirming in his stomach.Pakku is the _bad_ guy. If he- No, this has to be a trick. 

"A trick?" Pakku repeats.

"Zuko-" Sokka begins.

"No," Zuko interrupts, shaking his head. "He's lying. This is a trap, or a trick, or _something._ He just wants you to put your guard down-" 

Pakku watches him, expression illegible. "Why would I want to do that, Prince Zuko?"

"Because they-" He waves his hands, not finding the words. "-they disrespected you!"

"That's true," he confirms evenly. "I've never met such disrespectful children. But they're also children who saw an injustice, and corrected it." He glances to the side, expression thoughtful. After a moment, he continues, "Old men like me, we're not always _used_ to being wrong. We almost forget that we _can_ be. But that doesn't change the fact that we very often _are."_ He looks down at Zuko and raises his eyebrows. "Sometimes, I admit, it's a true _pleasure_ to be wrong."

Zuko glares back at him. 

Pakku doesn't seem to care. In fact, he _smiles_ a little as he turns back to Katara and bows. “Thank you, Katara.”

She beams as she bows back. “My pleasure. Any time you need sense knocked back into you, let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind," he assures wryly. "That said,” he continues, turning back to Zuko, “I suspect I’ll have a few more students in my roster once word spreads, no matter _what_ the other Councilmen may say. I may need some assistance, and I _believe_ you have experience teaching."

Zuko frowns. "I'm not even a Waterbender _._ ”

“We have enough _Waterbenders_ ,” Pakku dismisses. “What we _need_ is someone who can show us how the _enemy_ fights. A sparring partner with whom my students can practice _realistic_ fighting.” 

Zuko doesn't know whether this is revenge or acceptance. Either way, he’s not a _coward._ “I’ll be there.”

Pakku smiles. "Classes begin at dawn. I expect to see all of you there." 

Sokka snickers. "Ha. You guys have fun splashing each other. I'll catch some extra sleep for you." 

"I said _all_ ," Pakku retorts, turning to smirk. "Don't forget your sword, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. You'll need it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the gaang continues to bend and bond, Zuko gets to practice his social skills on a less Zuko-friendly crowd, and the Northern Water Tribe's tourist season continues to boom. It'll probably all be fine. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Time and Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021! Hope yours is safe, healthy, and happy!

Zuko shifts in his too-thick, too-warm boots. What was he _thinking_ agreeing to this? "This was a bad idea." 

“This was a _great_ idea," Sokka dismisses. "You’ve been cooped up for days! Any longer, you’re liable to get cabin fever, and you’ve already _had_ your fever for the week.” 

“It’s _cold."_

“And you’ve got a cozy parka! Plus," he adds, gesturing to the students shooting Zuko dirty looks in the breaks between their surly muttering, "you'll meet new people!”

Feeling a little like Mai at her most sociable, Zuko glares back at them and retorts, “I don’t _like_ new people.” 

“You don’t have to _like_ new people to _fight_ new people.” 

This brings Zuko to what he feels is his strongest argument: “I can’t _Firebend._ ”

“Neither can _they!_ ” 

“That's-” 

“Good morning.” They startle in unison at the interruption, then turn towards the voice. Despite the early hour, Yue seems delighted to be here. Zuko scowls as Sokka’s good mood gets better.

“Yue!” He reigns back his enthusiasm and continues almost casually, “I didn’t expect you.” 

“Not everyone agrees with Master Pakku’s changes,” she explains. “I thought my presence might help them accept the arrangement.” She turns to Zuko with a warm smile. “A pleasure to see you again, Prince Zuko.” 

"Princess," he grunts in reply, crossing his arms. 

“Can you believe he’s a morning person?” Sokka wonders. “This is him at his _peppiest._ ”

“Princess Yue,” greets Master Pakku, striding towards the trio. “I'm pleased you've come.”

“I'm pleased to be here,” she assures. “I trust you will be as fine a teacher to our women as you have always been to our men.”

“I'll certainly try. If they're anything like Tribeswoman Katara, I expect to have some _interesting_ lessons.” He raises an eyebrow. “Will you be joining the class?”

She blinks, nonplussed. “I’m not a Bender.”

He smiles slightly. “I’m aware. But the young man you’re speaking with isn’t, either, and _he'll_ be joining us.” He glances at Sokka. “That said, I’ve asked one of Master Takei’s pupils to join us to test your skill with a blade. Are you up for a round before training begins?” 

Sokka blinks, baffled. Zuko mirrors the expression. He’s shown him the basics, sure, but he isn’t ready for an actual _fight._ He’s about to say as much when the Water Tribesman’s eyes flicker to Yue, registering her intrigue. He swallows thickly. “Yes?”

“Excellent. Makashi is quite talented; I’m sure he’ll be a nice warm-up. As for you, Prince Zuko, don’t go easy on anyone. It’s about time these children realized the threat we’re up against.” With that, Pakku leads Sokka off to his sparring partner, a young man currently stretching on the outskirts of the courtyard. They speak for a moment, step back, and solemnly draw their weapons.

Before Makashi has made a single move against him, Sokka slips on the ice and staggers, nearly falling twice before he finally regains his balance. He glances over his shoulder, perhaps to check whether Yue had seen, and blushes bright red when he sees she has. 

“Good ice today!” He shouts absurdly. 

Her answering laugh is cut short by a wince as he loses his balance and collapses completely. He scrambles to his feet, waves at her, then faces his flummoxed opponent. Apart from the complete lack of focus or stability, he doesn’t do badly. He even pulls off an adequate riposte, throwing the momentum of his sparring partner back at them. Zuko feels oddly proud. 

“He really cares about you, you know.”

He glances at the Princess. “Excuse me?”

“Sokka. He talks about you a lot." When he doesn't respond, Yue continues, “I know how difficult it can be to manage one’s personal needs and desires with the desires and needs of their people. I can’t imagine this has been an easy situation for you, and I wanted to express my appreciation.”

His frown deepens. “Your appreciation.”

“For helping my tribe,” she elaborates, turning to face him more directly.

"This isn't _philanthropy_ , Princess,” he grouches, scowling. “It's _extortion_.” 

She considers this. “Then thank you for being there for Sokka.”

He crosses his arms stubbornly. “I’m not helping him, either.” 

“That’s extortion, too?” She guesses mildly, attention drifting back to the would-be swordsman.

He doesn’t answer. A dozen feet away, Sokka slips and slides his way out of harm, narrowly missing swipe after swipe.

“Regardless of your reasons, you saved his life, Prince Zuko. And though I’ve only known him a little while, I know the world would be a darker place without him. So thank you.”

Zuko glares out at the training yard, beyond uncomfortable with this conversation. “...I should go,” he decides, stalking towards the sea of people glaring at him. 

At least he knows how to handle _that._

\-----

Sokka doesn’t win, but he lasts a lot longer than he logically should.

\-----

“I expect each of you to spar with Prince Zuko today,” Master Pakku announces. Zuko shifts awkwardly at his left. Nearly every student lined up in front of him is glowering. He focuses his reciprocating glares on the largest ones. “When you fail- and you _will_ \- consider _why_ you have failed and try again. If you _don’t_ know why you’ve failed, I’ll _inform_ you. We have a number of healers waiting in case of burns, but try to avoid the fire anyway _._ It's _hot._ And if you have questions, _ask._ Prince Zuko is the Avatar’s Firebending master, and is _accustomed_ to stupid questions.” He nods sharply. “Who’s first?”

...there are more than a few volunteers.

\----

After the second fight that Zuko wins only with his hands and the occasional sneer, Pakku pulls him aside. 

“I brought you here as a _Firebender_ , Prince Zuko," he says pointedly. 

Zuko crosses his arms, not quite willing to admit how weak he remains. “I still won.”

“That's earned them a few extra rounds with _me_ , but it _doesn’t_ explain your behavior.” 

“Maybe I just don't feel like being used for target practice," Zuko snaps defensively, "or training your soldiers to kill _Firebenders!_ ” 

"I wouldn't _ask_ you to," Pakku replies. "Our soldiers are already _trained._ These boys are novices, Prince Zuko. You're the only Firebender they'll be seeing for a long time." He considers Zuko shrewdly, gaze too sharp to meet. Zuko concentrates his glare on the stupid beard. "If it's that you don't feel comfortable dueling, I can-" 

"I'm not a _coward_ ," Zuko interrupts furiously. "I beat them without fire, didn't I?!"

"...you did," Pakku admits. He strokes his beard. "You know, it might help both sides if the first Firebender they face is an ally.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Zuko demands.

“When the war ends,” Pakku answers, “we’ll all have to rebuild together. One way or another.” 

Zuko frowns at this small bit of reasonableness. It's remarkably similar to how Sokka had convinced him Peace Talks were a good idea. And although the idea itself had been a product of manipulation, Zuko can't deny that it still makes sense. When the war ends, it might be helpful for Zuko to have good relationships within the Northern Water Tribe. And even if Zuko doesn't completely trust Pakku, the man probably believes what he's saying. He knows _Uncle_ , after all. “I- it's too cold," he admits, hunching his shoulders.

“...too cold?” Pakku repeats, not necessarily _doubting_ him but not exactly overflowing with _belief_ , either.

Zuko nods.

“To _Firebend?”_

Zuko nods again. That’s what it has to be. He feels better. He can walk, and stay awake, and his side barely even bothers him anymore. Katara had cleared him for _training_ , after all. So it has to be the cold.

“I see.” Pakku strokes his beard again, frowning out at the horizon. “A friend once suffered a similar problem. They were unable to draw on their usual source, and therefore unable to bend to their usual skill level.” He considers Zuko. “What is _your_ source?”

“What?" Had he not heard his ‘it’s too cold’ explanation?

“What do you _draw_ on to create fire?”

“Anger,” Zuko replies, scowling. “That isn’t the problem. I’m _always_ angry. I told you, it’s the cold.” 

“Always angry?” Pakku repeats. He scans Zuko’s glare. “Fair enough.” He considers the problem. Just as Zuko has decided he should just go back to his room- or the cell, if he’s not trusted to be alone- Pakku announces, “I suggest you meditate on this.”

“...what?”

“Focus on your breathing. Firebending _comes_ from the breath.” 

“I _know_ ,” Zuko grits out. “I _am_ breathing.”

Pakku shrugs, suggests “Breathe _better,_ ” and sidles off.

Zuko glares after him. 

“...did he just tell you to breathe?”

Zuko closes his eyes. How long has been standing there.

“Zuko,” Sokka persists, inordinately pleased, “did he just tell _you_ to _breathe?”_

\-----

Zuko isn’t sure if it’s the enemy prince, the Avatar, or the _girl_ , but as the morning drags on, Master Pakku’s Waterbending training draws an impressive crowd. They linger on the edges of the courtyard, whispering to each other, pointing as if at a zoo with exotic animals. He hears more than a few giggles when his occasional efforts to Firebend result in nothing more than impotent puffs of smoke. 

He slumps back into his meditation pose, feeling a hundred burrowing eyes, and wishes he were anywhere else _._ After being bedridden for so long, he’d almost looked forward to a bit of action. But this is just _humiliating_. 

“How is it going?”

He peeks one eye open. Katara, sweaty and bright-eyed, already excelling with less than a day of proper training. “Fine.”

“Your side isn’t bothering you, is it?” She asks as she sits, removing her canteen.

“It’s fine.” He stares out at the other students. They’re all taking advantage of the apparent break Pakku has allowed. Unlike Katara, the majority of the Benders are laid out flat on the ice, staring up at the sky with broken gazes. “How's training?”

“Challenging,” she answers after a large gulp, “but _rewarding._ I almost can’t wait to be _attacked_.” 

He smirks. “That a request?”

“Believe me,” she assures with a sharp grin, “you’ll have your turn as soon as your bending comes back.” 

The reminder of his weakness has him hunching forward, miserable all over again. “ _If_ my bending comes back.”

“It will.” She rests a hand on his shoulder. “If Yagoda and I can’t help, I’m sure a Fire Nation healer can. We’ll help you find one.” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course you will,” she concurs firmly. “And we’ll be there to help.” She stands before he can argue. “Now come on. Work through your sets with me.” She smirks, and he sees Sokka in the expression. “It’ll freak everybody out.”

He’s too surprised- too _amused_ \- to argue. He obligingly stands and begins to repeat the moves he’s already done twice. They operate as strange reflections of each other, like the sea and the sky. And people _do_ stare, disturbed right out of their mocking. 

Pakku watches with an inscrutable expression as they finish their final kata. Then he nods. “Alright, break’s over. Who'd like to practice with Katara next?”

No one raises their hand. They just _groan._

_\----_

Sokka sits down beside Zuko, bruised and exhausted.

"...how's training."

"Great," answers the Water Tribesman, sounding miserable. "How's yours?"

_"Great."_

" _Great._ Just a couple of _prodigies_ , aren't we?"

Zuko snorts, then, smiling, settles back in his pose.

\----

“You know,” says Aang, plopping down beside them, “I thought Waterbending training would be more _fun_.”

“Training isn’t _supposed_ to be fun.”

“Training with you and Katara was fun,” Aang counters. “Master Pakku is just so- _grumpy._ ”

" _Zuko_ is grumpy," Sokka offers, not opening his eyes.

"Yeah, but _fun-_ grumpy _."_

Before Zuko can question this- and he _has_ questions- Pakku notices the conversation. “If you have time to distract my students, Avatar,” the old Master shouts, “you have time to do ice sheets!” 

Aang groans, but obediently marches off and shifts into a planking position. He presses his palms down flat, then begins doing push-ups. As he pushes down, the patch of ice sinks; as he pushes himself up, it rises in an awkward plateau. It seems...exhausting.

Zuko returns to meditating. 

\----

There's a shout, a ragged grunt, and Zuko opens his eyes just in time to see Katara slam into the ice. Inexplicably, _Hahn_ is there, weaving around her towards Zuko. “Careful," he teases as he passes by. "Us boys play _rough_." 

She scowls, but doesn’t have time to reply as she dodges another water whip, half-running half-sliding to get a better angle on her opponent. When she does, she melts the ice out from under their feet, sinking them down to the waist before the water refreezes. Her gaze snaps to Hahn, proud and sharp, but he doesn't seem to have noticed her victory.

Zuko stands as he approaches, and Sokka tiredly drags himself up, too.

"Morning, boys," Hahn greets. "Taking a break?"

"We're _meditating_ ," Sokka snaps.

"Master Takei focuses more on _fighting_ than _sitting_ ," he responds, amused. "Although," he drawls as he notices the sword at Sokka's side, "with a relic like _that_ , no _wonder_ Pakku has you on the sidelines. A _butterknife_ is sharper than that thing.” 

“Sharper than _you_ , too,” Sokka retorts, even as an embarrassed blush creeps over his face. “At least a whetstone can solve _my_ problem.” 

Hahn smirks, unperturbed by the insult. “You wanna see a real weapon, check _this_ out.” He removes his scimitar, brandishing it with obvious relish. It _is_ nice, admittedly, and clearly well-crafted, far superior to the Water Tribe weapons Zuko had come into contact with in the South Pole. Sokka’s sword, by comparison, looks exactly like what it is: an old, cheap blade crafted for peasants in some backwoods Earth Kingdom town. 

Sokka shifts self-consciously, and Zuko’s blood boils. He'd been _proud_ when he purchased that sword _._ Who was this brat to take that away from him?

“I’ve seen better blades melted down for steel,” Zuko snarls, stepping forward.

“You’re not even a bender,” Sokka points out, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“Like I was going to miss _this?”_ Hahn sneers, flipping his hair out of his face. “A Firebender who can’t Firebend:now _that’s_ entertainment. What exactly is he supposed to teach our brave girls? How to _curtsy?”_

Zuko narrows his eyes, then holds his hand out. Without question, without _hesitation,_ Sokka passes him the sword. 

Hahn raises an eyebrow. “You think you can beat _me?”_

“One way to find out,” Zuko replies evenly.

“Unless you’re _scared_ ,” Sokka goads from over his shoulder, sounding delighted.

Hahn’s eyes narrow. “I’m not gonna go easy on you just because you’re a bender, you know. You’re still an _Ashmaker._ Plenty of people around here would be _thrilled_ if I gutted you.”

“Go ahead then,” Zuko suggests, stepping forward. “Make their day.” 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Zuko jolts at the sudden interruption. Hahn smirks, clearly having noticed. “Your little teaching assistant wants a _lesson._ ”

Pakku frowns at Zuko, considering. “Do you actually know how to use that?”

Zuko nods very slightly, hyperaware he’s threatened the future Chief. He waits stiffly for whatever comes next.

Whatever comes next is Pakku nodding and walking off. “Carry on, then.” 

“You heard him,” Hahn says. “Or are you thinking twice?”

“Zuko?” Sokka scoffs. “ _Never_.”

Zuko lifts the sword. Its balance is off, of course. Hahn wasn’t wrong when he called it inferior. But Zuko doesn’t need anything more to beat the likes of him. 

Hahn pauses for a moment, perhaps appraising the confidence of Zuko’s stance, then he smirks and raises his own weapon. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, _your majesty._ ”

Zuko waits for him to strike first, because he really doesn’t need anyone saying he attacked unprovoked, then parries the hit. Outside of his training with Sokka, it’s been a long time since a one-on-one sword fight. 

He doesn't miss a step.

He strikes hard and fast, weaving around each of Hahn’s swings with ease. Unlike Zhao’s Fire Nation soldiers, Hahn fights like a _student_. He’s got skill, sure, and he’s definitely got _anger_ , but he hasn’t got experience _._ He doesn’t adjust for Zuko’s style, or seem to recognize how blatantly he telegraphs his next moves. The crowd around them grows, thrumming with anxious conversation, the other students abandoning their own sparring to watch Zuko’s. It’s… satisfying. He may not be a Firebender, but he’s still a _threat._

He leaps over a frantic swing, the soles of his too-thick boots skidding the blade. He wobbles as he lands back on the ice, not yet used to the terrain, and Hahn lunges at the opportunity. Zuko regains his balance just in time to pivot out of the way, catching the rounded edge of the scimitar in a circular parry and nearly twisting it right out of Hahn’s hand. As Hahn staggers under the surprising defense-turned-offense, Zuko raps the flat end of his blade against his back, knocking him forward and further off balance. When he turns, Zuko is already _there,_ his every strike furious and fast. Hahn blocks the hits awkwardly, steadily giving up ground beneath the barrage. The moment Zuko sees a gap in his defense, he finishes his assault with a direct kick to the stomach. It’s more of a Bender move than a traditional swordfighting technique, but Zuko isn’t one or the other. He’s _both._

Hahn falls back onto the ice with a grunt, sliding several feet before coming to a stop. For a moment, he’s just bewildered. When he seems to comprehend what’s just happened, he scrambles to his feet, face twisted in a furious expression.

“You filthy little _charity_ case!” He hisses, storming forward. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be nothing _but_ scar-!” 

“Whoops,” says Katara as a bucketful of water falls from the sky, drenching Hahn from head to toe. He parts the curtain of his soaked bangs, stupefied. “Sorry, Hahn,” she apologizes very sincerely. “I’m still getting used to all this _rough-housing._ ”

He scowls at her, and then he scowls at Zuko, and then he scowls at Sokka, and then he scowls around the little audience just in case he’d missed anyone who needed scowling. “Pakku!” He snaps as he finds the teacher in the crowd. “Did you see what she did?!!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Pakku drawls, unimpressed, “you’re attending a _Waterbending_ lesson. Accidents _happen_.” 

Hahn graduates from scowling to glaring. It’s less effective when dripping.

Pakku Waterbends him dry as he says, “I suggest getting a nice hot cup of blubber tea and staying further back in the future. I’m not sure you’re ready for _my_ students.” 

Hahn stalks back towards the palace, grumbling furiously with every sloshing step.

Master Pakku turns to Zuko. “Until you can Firebend,” he says, “you do _that._ Meditate on your own time. And you!" He snaps at Aang, who'd at some point abandoned his training to join the audience. "Get back to it!" 

Aang dutifully gets back to it.

“Sorry,” Katara says, approaching Zuko bashfully. “I know that was your fight, but you’d already _won_ , and I kinda wanted a shot at him.” 

“Are you _kidding?"_ Sokka shouts, throwing himself over Zuko’s shoulders, delighted. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my _life!_ Can we invite him back tomorrow and do it again? Aang can shoot him into space!”

From across the courtyard, still doing blizzard kicks, Aang whoops in agreement. 

\----

The rest of the day passes less eventfully. Since Zuko has no interest in dealing with new people any more than he has to- especially new people that _hate_ him- he heads back to the suite to review theater scrolls. Katara and Aang attend healing classes together in the afternoon, and return bubbling with enthusiasm. In the evening, they stay indoors, sharing a warm meal and warmer conversation. No one brings up the war, or tries to convince Zuko of anything. He knows he can’t hide from reality forever, but he decides to let himself have this, at least until he’s fully healed. 

Besides, maybe Pakku was right. If the Northern Water Tribe sees _he’s_ not evil, maybe real peace talks can begin, ones held in good faith by people who know what they’re doing. Maybe Zuko can keep his Nation _and_ his friends. 

His friends, he thinks again, for once not shying away from the word. They’re not like any friends he’s ever had before, and there's no reason they should _want_ to be his friends. But they demand it anyway, stubbornly selfless. They’d been willing to throw all of this away for him. Not even for his _life_ , just for his...his _happiness._ And that makes no sense, but it _happened_. They’d trusted him when they _shouldn’t_ , and...maybe they were _right_ to trust him. Because sitting here, watching them each do their best impression of Hahn’s face as he stormed away, he doesn't know if he has it in himself to betray that trust. 

He tries not to think about what will happen if diplomacy doesn’t work.

\----

Zuko wakes up before dawn. For a while, he just lies there, exhausted but restless. Over the past few years, he’s grown accustomed to sleeping in all manner of uncomfortable spots, from cheap cots to campgrounds to stone. But now, with the chance to sleep in the softest bed he’s seen since Caldera, he just _can’t_. 

So he sneaks into the kitchenette, intent on tea. He strikes the spark rocks, boils the water, steeps the first blend he can find, and waits. He doesn’t hurry his way through the preparation, instead trying to find comfort in the ritual.

Uncle could do this better.

“Will I regret asking for a cup of that?”

Zuko startles, then relaxes when he sees it’s only Sokka. He shifts over on the lounge to give him room, then pours a second cup. “I didn’t steep it as long,” he offers. He thinks it’s less bitter than before, maybe.

Sokka makes a big show of smelling, tasting, and swallowing the tea. Then, with way too much theatricality for this early in the morning, he gives a thumbs up. “Better!”

Zuko squints, reading his expression. “...but still not good.”

“I’m not even sure it’s technically _tea."_ He lolls his head back, staring out through the balcony door windows. It’s still dark, and darker still for the heavy clouds rolling in from the south. “Correct me if I’m wrong- again, _not_ a Firebender- but there's not a sun out there, is there?”

Zuko frowns down at his own tea, understanding the implied question. “I can’t sleep.”

“...dreams?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just… thinking.”

“There’s a lot to think about,” Sokka allows tactfully. “Are we thinking anything in particular?”

“I’m not a prisoner anymore,” he says slowly, “but I can’t _leave._ I want to help the Fire Nation, and I want to end this _war_ , but I don’t know _how_. I don’t know what I’m _doing-_ ” He breaks off, unable to put how he’s feeling into words. Sokka is silent, apparently ready to listen to whatever sleep-deprived nonsense he spouts. “I just- I’m supposed to be capturing the Avatar. And instead I’m, what- helping _train_ him? I’m ignoring my Father’s orders, and whatever I’m doing _instead_ , I know I’m going to mess that up, too.” And if he does, he’ll lose everything. His home _and_ his friends. “I don’t know what my destiny is anymore,” he admits, throat tight. 

Sokka sips his tea, considering. He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t even remember to cringe. “Call me crazy,” he says, "but it sorta seems like _you_ get to decide what your destiny is, for once.” 

“That’s not how destiny works,” Zuko reminds him tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My father-”

“Stop thinking about what your dad wants, or what your _Nation_ wants, or- or what _I_ want. What do _you_ want, Zuko?” 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and he _won’t_ know until it’s too late and he’s done the wrong thing. That’s how it’s _always_ going to be. His destiny- maybe it’s just to _fail._ To fail himself, and everybody he cares about. 

Sokka shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring straight forward. “You chose to help me, back in Zhao’s creepy mountain jail, and I chose to help you, too. I saved your life, you saved mine. And those choices, every single one of them, they led to _now. You_ get to decide what happens next for you _. That’s_ destiny, not the Aunt Wu ‘your true love will eat papaya’ stuff.” 

Zuko stares down at his tea. “Uncle used to say that if you don’t change your direction, you go where you’re headed.” 

Sokka hums. “And that means what, exactly?”

“When he said it,” Zuko answers slowly, “I thought he was talking about course corrections. Now I don't know. I think maybe he wasn’t.” For a moment, they sit quietly. Then Zuko thinks to wonder: “Why are _you_ awake?”

Sokka huffs out a laugh. “Are you kidding? I could barely _sleep._ There’s a real chance Hahn is gonna wanna defend his tattered honor and demand a rematch.” He grins. “I’m gonna pack snacks.” 

\-----

When they get to the courtyard, Hahn is nowhere to be seen. But Yue is.

“...you’re wearing pants,” Sokka says, apparently at a loss to say anything else. 

The Princess looks down at her legs, then smiles up at him, almost embarrassed. “I didn't think my dress would survive the lesson.” 

“You’re here to _fight?”_

She smiles shyly. “Only if my favorite teacher is available.” 

Sokka sighs dramatically. “Oh, sorry. Zuko has a full docket today-” 

“ _Sokka._ ”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he assures, sidling up beside her. “Sifu Sokka is here to help.”

“...Sifu Sokka?” She repeats, bemused.

“You can just call me Sokka,” he tells her graciously, “since you’re _my_ favorite _student_.”

“She’s your _only_ student,” Zuko points out, before feeling the need to add, “And you’re not even qualified to teach. You’re barely qualified to _learn._ ”

“One sec,” Sokka says, raising a finger to the Princess. “It’s a little brother thing. He gets jealous.” He grabs Zuko’s arm and pulls him just out of hearing range. Zuko allows himself to be dragged along only because it’s less time-costly than arguing.

“I’m not _jealous,"_ he snaps as soon as they’re far enough. _"_ If she’s going to learn, she needs a teacher who knows how to swordfight.”

“I know more than her, right?” Sokka prods.

“ _Barely_.”

“So I just stay a step ahead of her, and teach her _Sokka-Style._ ”

“And Sokka-style is…?”

“ _Hands-on_ ,” he reveals, wiggling his fingers as he walks backwards towards his student. 

Zuko watches him go, not sure whether he’s amused or disturbed, then shrugs. This feels like one of those things he just doesn’t _get_ , and Uncle isn’t here to almost explain it with a proverb. Better to just let it go.

He glances around. Master Pakku had given him a blade, something well-worn but well-built, and he’s eager to put it to use. Unfortunately, Katara and Aang are busy with some advanced Waterbending training, and everyone else is just _avoiding_ him. Any time he approaches _anyone_ , they suddenly find another partner. He should be happy they’re intimidated, he supposes, but he’s just _annoyed_ _._ He kicks at the snow, miserable, then resists wincing when he hits the solid ice underneath. 

Stupid Northern Water Tribe.

\-----

Zuko sips from his canteen as he watches Sokka and Yue ‘train’. Sokka is constantly either beside her or behind her, his hands resting on hers as he directs her through each move. When Yue jabs the sword forward on her own, stance perfect and expression fierce, Sokka actually applauds and hugs her. He quickly jerks away, blushing and apologizing and raising his hands in surrender, but then Yue is drawing closer to _him_ , murmuring something that has Sokka blushing _brighter._

Predictably, _this_ is when Hahn chooses to make his appearance. He storms towards the two from out of nowhere, and Zuko leaps to follow. He might have beaten Hahn easily, but neither Sokka or Yue are ready.

“He was only teaching me to defend myself,” Yue insists when Zuko draws close enough to hear. 

“He was _talking_ to you,” Hahn counters, pulling her against his side, fingers tight around her waist. “You don’t _talk_ to my girl, you backwater _peasant._ ”

“It isn’t like _that,_ Hahn,” she assures, not resisting his hold. “We were only scheduling lunch.”

“Lunch?” Sokka and Hahn repeat with very different expressions.

“To discuss the Southern Water Tribe,” she elaborates patiently. “We have a lot to learn about how our sister tribe trains its warriors.”

“I should be there,” Hahn charges uncertainly, thrown off by Yue's matter-of-fact explanation. “I’m the future _Chief._ ”

“Of course you’re welcome to join us,” she assures. “I only thought you’d be too busy because of those additional lessons you requested with Master Takei.” She cocks her head slightly. “Aren’t they at noon?”

Hahn flushes, then seems to register Zuko for the first time. His embarrassment transforms quickly into rage. “That’s not- I need to know this stuff, too!”

Yue nods. “Of course. I’m sure Tribesman Sokka would be happy to meet with you another time.”

Hahn glares between all three of them, then huffs. “Whatever,” he snarls, stalking away. 

“So…” Sokka says, arching a brow. “Lunch?”

She smiles, then blushes, then looks down. “All of you, of course,” she amends. “You, your sister, the Avatar- Prince Zuko, if he’d like. You’re _all_ welcome.”

“Unfortunately,” Sokka tries, “all of their schedules are busy.” 

“ _Sokka_.”

“Okay, fine, they’ll _try_ to make it. But they might have to leave early. I’m _not_ going on a date with Hahn, by the way," he adds. "Not even for world peace.” 

“Understandable,” she assures. Then, softer, “I’ll see you soon?”

Sokka’s expression shifts to something bittersweet. “Looking forward to it,” he promises.

\----

As Sokka works off his nervous energy with a few of the Waterbenders, Zuko scans the remaining students. He sees one fumbling alone and makes his way towards them.

“Tighten your stance,” he recommends. “You’re opening yourself up to attack.”

The Waterbender frowns up at the comment. When he recognizes Zuko, his eyes go narrow. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a _suggestion_.” 

For a moment, they seem uncertain, but this is quickly subsumed by disdain. “I don’t need your _suggestions_. After what you pulled with Hahn, you’re lucky Chief Arnook hasn’t fed you to the surf.”

“He challenged _me,"_ Zuko replies, scowling. "I just _finished_ it.” 

“ _Please._ Your uppity little _girlfriend_ stepped in with a cheap shot. Do you always need girls to win your fights?”

“I fight my own fights,” he snaps, bristling. “I am _Prince_ of the _Fire Nation-!_ ” 

“ _Banished_ Prince,” corrects the Waterbender, sneering. “Because even _Daddy_ got sick of you. That’s why you’re the Avatar’s little charity case, isn’t it? No one else _wants_ you?” 

The insults should be toothless. Father wants him. Zuko knows he does. But shame and fury boil his stomach anyway. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hisses, freezing cold in his thick parka. 

“Sure I do,” he replies, smirking at Zuko’s reaction. “Just like I know that as soon as Hahn is in charge, you’re _dead_.” 

Zuko snarls and takes a step forward, feeling fire boil beneath his skin, desperate for a target. Before he can put this savage back in his place, there’s a loose hold around his forearm, tugging him back. “You’re pinning all your hopes on Hahn?” Sokka clarifies, caustically casual. “I _dare_ you to make less sense. That guy can’t find the water in an ice cube.”

The Waterbender scowls. “You're defending him?"

"This is actually me protecting _you._ With a stance that sloppy, you should really have a better attitude. Nice guys like me aren't always going to step in for jerks like you." 

"Traitor," he snaps, storming off. Zuko glares after him.

"Wanna head back?" Sokka asks lightly. "I'm kinda over training." 

\----

They walk in silence. Sokka tries starting a conversation once or twice, but Zuko is too furious to be distracted. Even when they’re back, Zuko is too antsy to sit, and he paces back and forth through the living room. He wishes he could melt a trench, as Katara had. That seemed more satisfying _._

Sokka collapses backwards onto the lounge, watching him. “You good, buddy?”

“I'm fine!” Zuko snaps, a lot like a liar. “Like I care what some stupid peasant thinks of me.” 

“You’re doing a lot of pacing for someone who’s fine.”

“I _know_ you agree with him!” He snaps, twisting around. “You still think my Father wants me _dead_.” 

Sokka doesn't deny the accusation. “Tell me something,” he says. “Royal seals. The stamp ones, not the barking ones. They require _some_ oversight, don’t they?”

Zuko hesitates, still angry but unsure where this is going.

Sokka cocks his head to the side. “That a _yes_ frown or a _no_ frown?” Zuko glares. “So, _theoretically_ ,” he extrapolates, correctly reading his glare as a _yes_ glare, “if there are wanted posters of the royal prince printed-”

“It didn’t have my name.”

“-someone would have seen the _picture._ ”

“I didn’t _look_ like myself.” 

“You’re saying your own Father wouldn’t recognize you just because you grew a mane?”

“So what if he did?” Zuko snaps. “He knew I could handle it. Or- he thought I betrayed him. Or aides approved it and it never even _got_ to him. It doesn’t matter. I’m alive.”

Sokka nods. “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Just thought I’d ask.” 

“He wants me back,” Zuko says, unsure who he’s trying to convince. Sokka doesn’t reply, which is somehow worse than replying with something _terrible_ , and so Zuko shoves him over until there’s room on the couch for them both.

 _Think about it_ , Sokka had said before, acting as if his questions were nothing more than benign little brain teasers. _Think about it._ As if Zuko could do anything _else._

“What’s taking them so long?” He grouches, trying to focus on something else. “We have to be at the palace by noon.” 

“You know how they get,” Sokka replies, rolling his eyes and throwing his legs over Zuko’s lap. “They love their freaky sacred water. They’re probably pestering Pakku for extra homework.” 

Zuko shoves his legs off. “I don’t even want to go to this.”

Sokka replaces his legs. “It'll be _great_.”

“You just want someone to make you look good,” Zuko counters, giving up on the legs and crossing his arms.

“Please,” Sokka dismisses. “All I need for that is a _mirror._ ”

\-------------------------

It’s been a long time since Zuko had a formal meal.

For the past two weeks, it’s been informal sit downs with the Gaang, either in his cell or around a campfire. In the weeks preceding that, meals had been an abstract concept, delivered once every few days and consisting of stale bread. In the years preceding _that_ , it had been _ship_ food, over-salted and well-preserved, generally eaten alone in his room or in his Uncle’s chambers. Before then...the food was exemplary. The table was set with golden silverware and a red silk tablecloth, and servants would be lined up against every wall, anxious to serve however they could. Zuko would sit with perfect posture, chin up and eyes forward. 

Azula would smirk at him over her tea as he stuttered through excuses and promises, and she’d preen under Father’s attention when he asked after _her_ lessons. Zuko would pick at his food, stomach squirming, and he’d sometimes leave hungrier than when he’d arrived. There were times Father wasn’t there, too busy ruling his Nation and winning his war, and it would just be Azula and Zuko. On those days, Azula mocked the servants more than she mocked Zuko, and they both sat a little less stiffly. 

This is... _different._

“I’m grateful you all could make it,” Yue says as the servants deliver a greenish soup that’s inexplicably _cold._ Momo chases at their heels, chirping vainly for scraps.

“Trust me, _we're_ the grateful ones,” Katara assures as she takes her first happy slurp. “It isn't often we get a chance to slow down and appreciate good food.”

Zuko exchanges a doubtful look with Aang.

Yue smiles back. “It’s rarer that I have such pleasant company.” 

“Same,” Sokka agrees in a breathy sigh, then blushes when he seems to realize what he’s just said. 

Yue looks up at him past her lashes and blushes, too.

Sokka looks away, looks back to see if _she’s_ still looking, and blushes _more._

Zuko stuffs his mouth full of viscous, savory soup and wonders why he’d agreed to come.

“So, Prince Zuko,” Yue says, trying to sound polite rather than flustered, “how are you enjoying your new quarters?”

“More doors,” he answers stiffly, stirring his soup in crooked circles, cringing when thin strands of seaweed swirl with the current.

“That’s his version of high praise,” Katara assures dryly. “How did you enjoy your training?” 

Yue blushes some more, then stammers out, “It was very... _informative._ Your brother is an excellent teacher. I was very impressed with you, too,” she adds. “I can’t believe you’ve never had formal training.” 

Katara beams. “Thank you. Master Pakku has already taught me so much.” Her smile turns wry. “Now I just wish the rest of your tribe would catch up with him. I can’t believe how many Waterbenders refused to spar with me just because I’m a girl. There were even women who _agreed_ with them. Master Pakku made it clear they’d either follow the rules or find a new master, but still. They’re so _stubborn_.” 

“This is a… large change,” Yue says delicately. "An iceberg doesn’t melt in a day, and neither can we expect a society to change in one. But before this morning, the only weapon I’ve ever wielded has been my influence. And even that was… _limited._ ” She smiles. “But I believe my people, given the chance, will change for the _better_ because of you.” 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Zuko mutters, thinking of Hahn and that sycophantic goon. “People don’t change, Princess. Life isn’t a spirits tale.” 

“That’s a shame, Prince Zuko,” she replies smoothly. “I’ve always _liked_ spirit tales.” She pauses a beat and then adds, almost nonchalantly, “A spirit saved my life, you know.”

“...metaphorically?” Sokka clarifies in a squeak.

“No,” she laughs. “When I was born, I was very sick and very weak. Most babies cry when they’re born, but I was born as if asleep, my eyes closed.” She considers her glass, amused tone drifting more serious. “Our healers did everything they could. They told my mother and father I was going to die, but my parents refused to accept it. One night, beneath the full moon, they pleaded with the spirits to save me. My dark hair turned white, I opened my eyes, and I began to cry. And my parents knew I would live. That’s why my mother named me Yue. For the moon.” 

Katara’s eyes are wide. "That's _amazing!"_

Yue nods. “I’ll always be grateful for what the moon spirit did. And,” she continues, glancing at Zuko, “I’ll _always_ appreciate a good spirit tale.” 

He stares back at her. In the stories Zuko had heard, spirits were wily and aloof. Uncle always said that they were capable of great things, but the idea that they could care about a human- enough to save their _life..._ it’d be inconceivable if there weren’t proof sitting across from him sipping bad soup.

“...I got trapped in a panda once,” Sokka says. “So.”

Yue raises an eyebrow. “Now _that_ sounds like an interesting story.” 

“Ooh, I’ll tell this one!” Aang exclaims. “It all started with an _acorn…_ ”

\----

By the second course, the atmosphere has relaxed considerably. Sokka slouches forward on the table, telling bad joke after bad joke, ignoring how the gaang groans because Yue keeps _laughing._

“-ruined the Fire Lord’s picnic?” Yue waits as Zuko eyes the balcony. “ _Fire ants!_ ” Yue giggles, and Sokka preens. 

“Is he always this funny?” She wonders, still laughing.

Katara considers, then nods. “He is always _this_ funny.” 

“ _Someone’s_ gotta keep the Gaang’s morale up while we save the world,” Sokka explains, resting his arm on the table. Zuko notices, a little amused, that he’s flexing his bicep. “That’s gang with _two_ a’s.”

“Impressive,” Yue assures. As Sokka flexes so hard his elbow slips off the table, she asks Aang, “And how is your Firebending progressing? Sokka told me Prince Zuko is quite the teacher.”

“Zuko,” Zuko blurts out, then feels stupid. “You don’t have to keep saying Prince. Just Zuko. Is fine.” 

She blinks at him, surprised, then smiles. “Yue, then.” 

He ducks his head in awkward agreement, well-aware Sokka is silently cackling.

... _mostly_ silently. 

“Do you think you could show us a little something?" Yue asks Aang. "I’ve never _seen_ Firebending before.”

Aang rubs the back of his neck. “To be honest, I don’t think I should,” he admits. “I learned early on that Fire isn’t an element you should play around with.” He perks. “I can show you this, though!” He Waterbends three sips from his glass then freezes each as small, smooth marbles. Then, with a grin and an eyebrow waggle, Airbends them around and around between his palms. 

Yue blinks. 

“I know you understand the danger fire can pose,” Zuko interjects, vague pride burning in his chest, “andyour self-discipline has improved." He considers. "Show her your breathing technique."

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Aang wonders, gaze flickering almost involuntarily towards Katara.

“You don’t have to,” Zuko allows, because the last thing _anyone_ needs is an anxious Avatar bending fire, “but I know you can do this.”

Aang’s shoulders relax at the show of trust. “Well...if Zuko says it’s okay...check this out!” He sits up straight, presses his fists together, flares his nostrils, and takes in a deep breath. His brows furrow as he concentrates and then, just like that, the candles on the table pulse in unison with his breathing.

Yue gasps, then leans forward, eyes bright. "That's incredible!"

“Keep concentrating,” Zuko advises, knowing compliments may draw the boy right out of his concentration.

“Of course, Sifu Hotman,” Aang intones, ignoring that that phrase has been outlawed. 

Zuko doesn’t press him on it. That might ruin his concentration too, after all. Besides, while the name had annoyed him at first, Aang never says it cruelly or sarcastically. He just says it _fondly_. It's...grown on him.

Yue smiles as Sokka roasts his fish over a candle, then giggles as Aang forces the flame to flare, crisping the meat black. Katara laughs as Sokka pouts, and Zuko is suddenly aware _he’s_ smiling, too.

He can’t remember the last time he felt so... _happy_. 

And more than that- he can feel the flame. Before, sensing fire was like trying to feel a cool breeze through a cracked window. This feels like gusts of fresh air. It feels... _different._

It feels like sun soaked sand beneath bare feet. Like the steam rising from a cup of tea poured just for him. Like the warm touch of a hand leading him through the palace gardens. Like a dream he’d had once, and forgotten.

He shifts forward, drawing from his reserve of rage. He’s so _close._ He may be weak, but he can _feel_ it. He can _do_ this. If he just grits his teeth and _tries_...

It’s like clutching smoke.

Aang notices his frustration. “Zuko?”

“I thought-” He breaks off and shakes his head, disappointed and a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing.” He smiles. “You did a good job.”

Aang beams.

\-------

"That's a nice balcony you've got there, Yue," Sokka says as he finishes his third serving of fermented fish. "I bet you get some pretty spectacular views up here."

"I do," she agrees, smiling at him. "If you'd like, I can show you a few."

"I _would_ like," Sokka assures, standing. Zuko stands, too, and follows, nearly bumping into the Water Tribesman as he stops in place and turns. "Uh, buddy? What are you up to?"

Zuko frowns. "I thought we were looking at the view."

" _We_ _were_ ," Sokka replies nonsensically.

"We'll come, too," Katara announces as her brother groans. "I bet we can see Appa's stable from up here."

At the mention of Appa, Momo rushes up onto the balustrade, peeking down into the vast city below.

Sokka sighs. "Okay. So this is a group activity now. Great. This is how I love to spend my afternoons: playing hide-and-seek with a ten-ton bison."

"Hey, me too!" Aang concurs, leaning halfway off the railing until Zuko is tempted to drag him back over. _Airbender,_ he reminds himself. "I see him! Hi, Appa!" 

Zuko joins him, smiling despite himself, watching as the people below bustle about. It _is_ a nice view. 

"Hey, look!" Katara exclaims, pointing. "It's snowing!"

She's right. The snowfall has only just begun, fat, sauntering flakes which seem in no hurry to reach the ground. During his three year journey, Zuko had seen his fair share of snow. He'd hated it. It was wet and cold and irritating, and it got _everywhere._ Right this moment, though, with a full belly and good company, he sees the appeal. 

Except…

That’s not what snow should look like, is it?

Sokka notices first. "Oh, no." 

Aang frowns. “...Sokka?”

“I’ve seen this before,” he says as Momo tries to catch one of the black snowflakes on his tongue. The lemur’s face scrunches up as he shakes his head and bolts to hide from the acrid taste. “Right before our village was attacked. It’s soot mixed with snow.”

“The Fire Nation,” Katara breathes, face falling. 

“They’re coming,” Sokka confirms grimly. “And by the looks of it…there's a lot of them." 

Yue takes a step backwards, eyes wide. “I need to inform my Father,” she says, and then bolts into the hall.

Zuko turns back to the ocean. The Fire Nation is coming. A whole _fleet._ Maybe- 

“Zuko?”

He turns. They're staring at him, wary and concerned and- 

Oh, he realizes. It's time to choose.

\----

An emergency council meeting is called to discuss the impending attack. This time, Zuko and the gaang are escorted by a band of twitchy, well-armed soldiers, all of whom regard him with keen-eyed suspicion. Zuko doesn't bother returning the glares. He just stays quiet and _thinks_. He has no idea what will happen in this meeting, and no idea what will come next. If he's to help his nation, he needs to be _alive_. Except- why are they here? They don't know _he's_ here; it can't be a rescue attempt. And if this is just an invasion, _why?_ Sure, the Northern Water Tribe is harboring the Avatar, but they've made no other moves against the Fire Nation. There's no need to escalate the situation with a _fleet._ Maybe it's a show of force, an intimidation technique-? 

"Don't worry," Katara says as they approach the chamber doors. "We'll figure this out." 

Zuko wonders who she thinks she's fooling. 

\----

Zuko had thought the _last_ hearing was chaotic. When they enter the chamber, things have already escalated _beyond_ chaos.

"You!" Selai hisses, leaping to his feet along with a dozen other angry old men. "What did you do?!" 

“Zuko didn’t do this,” Katara contends sharply. “How _could_ he have, with you and your people breathing down his neck?!” 

“Perhaps we should have breathed _harder_ ,” Selai shoots back furiously. “He obviously managed to get a message out _somehow_.”

“Three days ago, he was locked in a tiny cell half-conscious,” Sokka counters, scowling. “You think in the time since he’s managed to not only _send_ a letter, but redirect an entire fleet of ships?” He turns to Chief Arnook. “Are these _really_ your best and brightest?”

Chief Arnook sighs. “Calm down and _sit_ down, everyone," he orders, and, one by one, they _do._ He takes his own seat and continues, " _Why_ they’re here doesn’t matter. The fact of the matter is that they _are._ We need to be preparing strategies, not arguments.” 

“Then I’m sure you’ll agree Prince Zuko must be detained." 

Chief Arnook levels Selai with a heavy look. “And why, exactly, am I agreeing with that?”

"Even if he _didn’t_ inform the Fire Nation of the Avatar’s whereabouts," he stresses, "the boy has made his loyalties _clear._ ”

“Yes," Pakku agrees dryly, "I rather thought he _had_.”

“Letting him run free during a battle for the very fate of our city is a level of foolishness I _frankly_ thought we were above, never mind the decisions this council has made this last week!” When the Chief remains silent, he presses, “He is the _son_ of the Fire Lord! Our men don’t need the distraction of wondering whether someone they’re fighting _with_ is about to shoot fire at their backs!"

“I promise,” Aang insists earnestly, “Zuko wouldn’t do that.”

Chief Arnook furrows his brow, considering.

Selai learns forward. “You can trust the Avatar _and_ in common sense, Arnook. If he truly isn’t a threat, there is _no reason_ Prince Zuko wouldn’t agree to these terms.” 

“Uh, yes there _is?”_

Everyone turns to Sokka, waiting.

“The terms are _stupid_ ,” he explains, splaying out his hands.

It's not his best argument.

Chief Arnook sighs heavily. “Councilman Selai raises a good point, Tribesman Sokka. This is the greatest threat the Northern Water Tribe has ever faced. My men can’t afford any distractions. And, in the event of our loss, a high-value prisoner would be advantageous.” He dips his chin a little. “That said, Prince Zuko has been cooperative in his time here, and the word of the Avatar still _means_ something in this city.” The other councilmen watch him with keen eyes as he considers. He nods a little to himself, then stands. “As this is a decision which affects everyone in this room, I’ll leave it up to a vote. All those who wish for Prince Zuko to be held in a secure location through this battle, make your voice heard." They do, loudly and passionately. Pakku remains silent, the only dissenting vote.

"Very well," Chief Arnook says. He nods to the soldiers. "Escort Prince Zuko back to his rooms-"

“I know the way,” Zuko snaps, storming out of the room. 

\-----

He feels like he’s about to _explode._ He can’t even tell who he’s angry with anymore. They’re _right_ to be suspicious, and they’re _right_ that he’s loyal, but they're wrong to think he'd ever attack so dishonorably, and they're _fools_ to think that he'd let himself be used as a hostage against his own _nation._ And- would that even _work_ _?_ Everyone thinks he's _dead_ , except for Zhao, and if Zhao is heading that fleet, he'd have no _reason_ to save a useless, banished Prince. 

Even if they reached out directly to the Fire Lord, Zhao told Father he was _dead_ , and so of course he would assume they were just lying savages- 

But, no, for those wanted posters to have gotten royal approval, Father _must_ have known he was alive- but for them to be _approved,_ Father must have-

He shakes his head, keeps stalking forward. He can’t think about it. He can’t.

Father wants him back. He gave him a mission, didn’t he? He gave him a _chance._ Sokka, and Katara, and Aang- they have to be wrong. But they’re _not_ , not about everything else-

“Zuko?”

He turns, startled and then annoyed when he sees Aang. Always chasing after him. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Suddenly, it’s very easy to know who he’s mad at, because there’s only one other person _here._

“Here to _escort_ me?” He hisses furiously. Maybe if they fought- _really_ fought- he could slink back into the real world, where people don’t just like you and defend you and _care_ , where he’s not happy but at least he’s not so _confused._

"I wanted to check on you," Aang replies. "They shouldn't have=”

“Have what _?!"_ Zuko demands. "Been afraid of me? I'm a _threat!_ To them, to this city, to _you._ They’re _right_ to be afraid!” 

“Fear can drive people to the wrong conclusions,” Aang replies slowly. “It can lead to divisions, and it can make people forget the good in each other.” He smiles. “I haven’t forgotten the good in you, Zuko. You’re not evil, or a spy, or my enemy. You’re my _friend_.”

“You can think that,” Zuko retorts, “but it doesn’t make it true. Everyone else understands that. I should be _fighting_ you!” 

“If you asked Zhao, he’d probably agree,” Aang says evenly. “If you asked me, I’d probably disagree. Anyone you ask would give you a different answer. But only one person’s answer _matters._ I’m not here to escort you, Zuko," he says, turning away. "I know you'll find your way.” 

\-----

Zuko stalks through the city, blood boiling. The few people he sees either glare or scuttle from his warpath. He ducks his head and pushes on, breathing in the cold air until his lungs burn and his skin feels numb even through the parka, until, for the first time in a long time, he feels properly _alone_. It’s too dark now to see the smoke on the horizon, but he swears he can smell it. 

For a moment, he considers leaping in, relying on an inner flame he can’t feel and stubborn spite he can’t seem to shed. He could just swim on and on, as far as he can get. He thinks of drowning in a mountain miles from here, thinks of the friend who’d saved his life. A fierce gust of salty wind stings his face and waters his eyes.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what the smart thing is, or the right thing, or the honorable thing. Maybe he _should_ just go back to his cell. Maybe Father had the right idea. Maybe his destiny is just being _away._

 _No,_ he thinks fiercely. _Never give up without a fight._ The Fire Nation is _coming._ His won't be a coward, not again. He loves his nation, he loves his _people_ , and if they're fighting, so is he, until his last breath.

He just needs a boat. No, not a boat- he wouldn't be able to get past the wall. He needs _Appa_. He could fly to the ships and offer the intel Councilman Selai insists he already gave. And this city of people that _despise_ him, this backwater place full of self-righteous peasants and boorish politicians, could be _fixed._ He’d be the monster these savages already think he is, and he'd be the son he'd always failed to be. The son his father has always wanted.

Resolve settles in his gut like fresh snow as he turns away from the sea and towards the stables. He storms down the snowy path, heart in his throat, terror amplifying its every beat. This is his last chance, his _only_ chance.

If he fails his father again, he'll never be forgiven. The gaang...they'll understand. He just has to-

He staggers to a stop, a huff of surprised breath escaping translucent gray in the starlight. 

Up ahead, for just a moment, he'd seen a flash of red. 

...someone has snuck in. 

He follows, steps swift but silent, every inch the Blue Spirit he once was, even as his mind reels. They’re already in. The Fire Nation has found a way through Chief Arnook’s defenses. Zuko doesn’t need to get to them; they've come to _him_ _._

And he knows where Chief Arnook is. He knows who needs to be brought down, what weaknesses to exploit. He knows which half of the population is defenseless. If he went to Zhao, if he _gave_ him that information, they’d be able to invade, to _conquer_ , with fewer casualties. And he’d have an explanation for everything- for the Blue Spirit (I was gaining their trust), for the prison break-out (I was getting to the Avatar), even for the Northern Riders (I needed to get to the North Pole). And Aang _wanted_ to compromise, he was _willing_ to talk to the Fire Lord. If Zuko did this, if he gave Fire Lord Ozai the North Pole after a hundred years, he could make that talk _happen_. He could help the war end. He’d save lives. He’d get _his_ life back. He would have his Father’s ear and his Father’s trust. His pride _._

He’d have his _love_. 

Except no. 

No, of course he wouldn’t. 

Father wouldn’t care about peace talks. Father denied his thirteen-year-old son mercy as he pledged undying loyalty; why would he ever give it to this proud, stubborn city? And Zhao- Zhao would burn this place down just because he _could._ Or he’d turn it into a husk of itself, like those villages in the Earth Kingdom, and Katara’s revolution would be over before it could begin. Hundreds of years of stupid traditions and good traditions gone. Their warriors would be killed. Hahn, stupid weasel-faced _Hahn,_ would just be a body in the snow. A boy. 

And Katara- Aang- _Sokka-_

Certainty hastens his steps. He has to stop the red robe, has to figure out how they got inside, how many others are _already_ inside, what their plan is- he has to stop Zhao- he has to stop his _Father_ -

He missteps, and his frustratingly thick boots crunch the fresh snow underfoot. The figure stiffens, and so does Zuko. He can't bend, but maybe- maybe he can force _them_ into sending up a flare, something to draw the attention of the entire city. He might not make it, but everyone else will have a fighting chance.He'll have died honorably. For the soul of his nation. For his friends. 

A dozen feet away, the Fire Nation soldier turns. His eyes latch onto Zuko immediately, wide and unblinking. _Staring._ And then, faster than anyone his age or size should be able to move, he tears forward. 

Because he’s had so much practice lately, it isn’t as hard as it might have been to hug back. “Uncle,” Zuko breathes, voice breaking. 

Uncle’s fingers dig into the bright blue parka, pulling Zuko as close as he can. It’s tighter than one of _Katara’s_ hugs. Zuko sinks into it, even when his bruised ribs complain. “Zuko,” Uncle breathes out raggedly. “I was told--” He chokes off. When he speaks again, it’s a little steadier. “You cannot imagine my relief, Prince Zuko, seeing you and knowing you are safe.” He squeezes once more, then reluctantly retracts, still holding onto Zuko’s arms even as he stares at the younger man’s face. “I am so, _so_ happy to see you.” The relief doesn’t dim, but a hint of confusion seeps in. “What happened to you, Prince Zuko? What are you _doing_ here?”

“I-” Zuko breaks off. The relief- the sheer _joy_ of seeing Uncle- cracks at the realization that...This is treason. _Real_ treason. And Uncle is a good man, but this is beyond anything Zuko can expect of him. This may be the last time he can look at his Uncle’s face and see that old familiar fondness, the undeserved pride, the _love_. Maybe it’s selfish, but he wants this moment to last as long as it possibly can.

“Before I explain,” he begins roughly, “I want you to know something. We may not always agree, but-” He swallows. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Uncle, everything you _tried_ to do, everything you gave _up_ for me.”

“Zuko,” he says, worry digging a groove between his brows. “What is the matter?” His eyes flicker down, washing over the unusual outfit Zuko is wearing, clearly looking for injuries. His grip tightens on his nephew’s forearms as if he might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. “Are you hurt?”

“Uncle-” Zuko stares at the older man, memorizing his features. “I’m sorry, but this is wrong.”

Uncle frowns, searching his face for clarity. “Wrong?” 

“All of it,” he says. Then his words come flooding out, fast and desperate, because he wants Uncle to _understand_ and he knows he _won’t_ and he knows the minute he stops talking, Uncle will _hate_ him. “The Fire Nation is wrong. Our intentions might have been good once, but we’re _hurting_ people, people all over the world, for _nothing_. We’ve been hurting them for a hundred years and Father- Father is going to _continue_ hurting them. I’m sorry, Uncle, I _swear_ I’m not turning my back on my Nation, I’m trying to _save_ it from becoming something it shouldn’t be. I-” His voice cracks. “I can’t let him do that, Uncle.” His next breath comes shuddering out as his heart pounds. “I’m here because I’m helping the Avatar. ” 

Uncle stares at him.

“Okay,” he says then. “How can I help?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100,000 words in, I'm starting to think this redemption speed-run might be a bit slow.
> 
> Uncle is here! Zuko is more or less on board with On Purpose Treason! Some fishy situations are on their way! 
> 
> As a head's up, the next chapter will be slow in coming out as work is gonna be crazy & my second semester has begun. Thank you so much to everyone who commented! Your kind words gave me the motivation I needed to work on this story when I really should be writing a paper about hydrofracking literally due in two hours oh god-


End file.
